


My Cup of Tea

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love at First Sight, M/M, Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-06-05 06:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 90,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6692845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theodore never believed in love at first sight, but this cup of tea was too strong to be denied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Theodore found it was always easier to go to work after a rough night.  Somehow, a house filled with memories of things best left unsaid and a bed filled with nightmares was not conducive to a pleasant breakfast in the kitchen.  So it was, that he found himself stuffing a few crumpled tea bags into his satchel, hastily throwing his robe over his shoulders, and happily stepping into the floo. One, “Ministry of Magic, Atrium” later and he was on his way to work.  His fingers fumbled with the last few buttons of his robe one-handedly, while the other delved in his pocket for a few knuts.

The woman behind the counter of the Atrium cafe gave him a bemused smile and he tried not to think about how much of a rat’s nest his mousy-brown hair was, or the bags under his eyes as he handed her the knuts in exchange for a pastry. 

“You doing well, Mr. Nott?” she asked, same as ever.

“Quite,” he answered stiffly.  Perhaps his answer came out a little too strained, because she gave him a look of pity.  He glared at her for good measure before stomping to the lifts.  Since the end of the war, appearances had not been something he thought much about.  His light brown hair fell straight to just below his ears, and though it tended to frizz, did not require much maintenance.  As for the rest of him, there wasn’t much he could do. He had always been of average height with a thin, almost wiry, build, and due to his job he didn’t get much sunlight.  The pale freckles, in an even paler face were something he was resigned to.

At this early time of day, only a few of the more career-frenzied ministry workers were hustling about.  The ministry was fairly quiet, and Theodore saw a lone interdepartmental memo lazily gliding through the air to its destination.  His deep blue eyes were unfocused as he bit into his pastry, brain already going over the day’s work ahead of him.  

The only other person who shared the lift with him on the way down was, surprise, Percy Weasley.  Despite being closer than ever with his family, the man was still an ambitious workaholic.  Bending down to tie an untied shoelace, Theodore allowed the sneer to cross his face out of sight.  He thought ironically that some things never change, he would always be a pureblood bigot, and Weasley would always be yearning for more than his family had.

The lift dinged as it stopped on the fifth floor and Weasley turned and nodded, “Nott,” before brushing out the door.  A surprised, parting, “Weasley,” followed him.

Still a tad bemused, Nott continued down until the habitual ‘ding!’ signalled that he was on the ninth level.  The polished black stone of the hallway warped and rippled his figure and he hurried to the plain black door at the other end.  Only when he reached the door did he breathe in and relax a little. Ah, the Department of Mysteries, his home away from home.  After the circular room he stepped into swung itself around a few times and came to a halt, Theodore stuck his index finger into his mouth and brought the saliva-coated appendage to the wall.  Unsanitary? Perhaps. But it was one of many things you became immune to after discovering secrets in the Department of Mysteries.  You do  _ not _ want to know how house elves starch laundry.  A few feet to the right a door glowed with a soft white light, as the magic-infused walls soaked up his saliva and recognized him as Unspeakable Nott, worker in the Mysteries of Space. 

Before too long he was at his desk. He cast an aguamenti at the tea-stained teacup in pride of place on his desk, heated the water with a charm and plunked in one of the tea bags from home.  But he had barely picked up his work file when he was interrupted.

“You going to loan me a tea bag, or what, Nott?” and he looked up into the grinning face of his work-partner, Abraham Foster.  Foster was older than Theodore’s late father, but acted like he was still fifteen.

“What the hell are you doing up so early? And it’s not borrowing if you always take and never give back,” Theodore said more than a little sulkily.

“I’ve been here all night,” Foster beamed, all white, crooked teeth and crinkly, light blue eyes.  He helped himself to one of Theodore’s tea bags.  “I’m pretty sure I made a breakthrough on this equation.”

He instantly had Theodore’s attention. “What? How—”

“Shut up, Teddy—” 

“Fuck you!”

“—and let me explain. We were solving for the wrong constant.” Foster continued blithely “If we wanted magic to be the guideline for the figure than we should have been solving for time, and not distance!”  

“Show me,” Theodore demanded. His tea was clutched in his trembling hands, and his eyes looked almost feverish.  They’d been working on an equation to explain where space disappeared to when apparition occurred.  If they could develop a workable equation they would be one step closer to discovering why it was that long distance apparitions took so much more out of the wizard when performed. And if _that_ was discovered, then they could begin the real work in earnest: finding out how to apparate anywhere with no repercussions.  It could even solve splinching!

Foster led him over to a wall tiled in slate.  Chalk scribble, numbers and notations covered almost every square inch of it.  To the average observer, it would look like absolute gibberish. To Theodore it was a special jargon that flowed like a soothing balm across his brain, easing away any last lingering impressions of the nightmares from last night.  

“Oh my,” he said.  Foster grinned almost madly.  Theodores small, pale fingers reached up and reverently brushed the edges of an equation almost hidden amid the chalk theorems around it. “You’ve done it… You’ve done it!”

Faces alight with identical grins, they turned to each other and, without a word being spoken, hurried to their desks to begin applying the equation to their work.

Seven hours later and the Department of Mysteries was humming with noontime activity.  As they entered the office area, a few unspeakables greeted Nott and Foster and were grunted at.  Both men were immersed in their work, quills flying across the pages and foreheads bent low to the desk.  Therefore, it came as a complete surprise when Theodore was started out of his work by a rich voice.  He barely processed what was being said, only vaguely hearing a voice as thick as molasses, dark and warm.  

“What?” he snapped impatiently, and looked up—and gaped in astonishment, his work completely forgotten.  The man leaning too far into his personal space was a god!  Tall and broad at the shoulders.  Standing straight backed and easy, his form exuded power and confidence, as well as a deep underlying warmth and kindness.  His tailored robes showed off every flowing muscle, coiled like springs under tan skin. When Nott’s eyes raised themselves to the face of the man (though no mere man was he!), he found a blonde stubble on a chiseled jawline.  Not a trace of baby fat could be seen and the man’s hazel eyes bore into Theodore’s with a look of vivid curiosity, and something more he couldn’t name.  His dirty-blonde hair fell in soft waves closely around his head.  But the main feature that really knocked Theodore’s breath out was the stunning smile, aimed in his direction.  White teeth under delectable, red lips, smiled in a soft,  _ extremely sexy  _ way and Theodore felt his heart trying to beat its way furiously out of his chest.  His skin felt too hot to touch.   _ Was he blushing?  _

The too-beautiful-for-this-world man chuckled a little and repeated, “I asked whether you had a tea bag I could borrow.  I forgot to bring one in my lunch, and while I was lamenting, one of the other unspeakables mentioned your name, and said you always had tea.” 

Theodore’s hands were moving before the man finished talking, delving into his bag and withdrawing a crumpled bag of ground leaves.

“It’s—they’re kind of… scrunched… or… you’ll probably—it'll still taste fine!” his mouth blurted without any permission from his brain.

“I’m sure it will,” the gorgeous man said generously, and his fingers brushed lightly over  Theodore’s palm when he took the offered tea.  The blazing heat of the touch made Theodore give an audible gasp, and he looked up with cheeks flaming.

“Who are you?” he breathed and the man gave him a look of confusion.

“I’m Neville Longbottom.  We had potions together for five years.”

What?  _ What?  _ What? What? What?  _ What? _

But it seemed his mouth still had a mind of its own and blurted out, “You can have my tea whenever you want it!” 

Neville gave him a look of amusement.

“I’ll do that.” And then he walked away with a smile.

Theodore’s head hit his desk with an audible  _ thunk _ .  Foster was smirking at him from his own desk, and he pushed off and swiveled his chair over until he was sat right next to his partner.

“Was that what I think it was?” he teased.

Nott groaned in misery into his desk.

“Was the infamously single, Teddy Nott, attracted to that mountain of a man? Were you—were you  _ flirting _ ?”

“Fuck off,” Theodore moaned.

“ _ Oh gallant Neville, ‘you can have my tea whenever you want it!’ “  _ and this last remark proved too much for the older wizard and he burst into uproarious laughter.

For a while there was silence, as Foster snickered quietly and Theodore attempted to drown his self-pity in the hard wood of the desk.  He also found himself fairly consumed in the tingling sensation still resonating from his open palm.  It was like he could feel the phantom touch of warm, callused fingers on him. Then, the question that had been quietly gnawing at the back of his mind finally broke the silence. “What is he even  _ doing _ here?  I thought he worked at Hogwarts or something.  Some sort of professor.”

“Oh, yes.  He’s the herbology professor.  And apparently, quite the whiz with the plants.  Bode told me that he cooked up some sort of cross gene plant thing in greenhouse seven.  It seems that the thing is absurdly violent, but has traits that could make it very valuable for the stuff the potions section works with.”

“Oh,” Theodore said softly.

“ _ So _ ,” Foster said slyly. “What are you going to do about your little ‘man crush’?”

Theodore probably looked about as lost as he felt when he replied, “I have no idea.”

Truth be told, he was completely lost.  He’d hit puberty a far later than his fellow slytherins, right when the war was ramping up, and he’s been in such a constant state of terror that he spared little thought for something as trivial as his _hormones_.  At school, he was in a nest of snakes, each seeking to outdo one another to curry favor to their parents, and in turn the dark lord.  At home, he walked on eggshells around the large manor, not knowing where his father would be at any one time and  _ never _ knowing what sort of temper he might be in.  

When the war was over his father, and his second cousin, Cantankerus Nott, were both dead, and he had received an invitation to intern for a year in the Unspeakable’s department.  He’d been wrapping up his father’s affairs and shady business dealings, repairing the decrepit manor, and enjoying his job as an unspeakable ever since.  He hadn’t thought he had time for romance.  

Foster was looking at him with no small amount of impatience, clearly eager for more revealing thoughts about the encounter.

“I’m hungry. And I forgot to pack a lunch.”

The elder man sighed in dissapointment.  “You want half of the cheese sandwich my wife packed?” 

“Yeah.”

That night as he tried to get to sleep, Theodore clenched and unclenched his hand obsessively.  He thought of Neville Longbottom, the awkward, shy, chubby kid who was always yelled at in potions class.  After fifth year, they hadn’t shared any classes together, and he couldn’t recall actively  _ seeing  _ the other boy at all since then.  Of course, at that point the threat of the Dark Lord was hanging over everyone’s head.  If Longbottom had already begun turning into the self-assured man he was now, Theodore had certainly not noticed!  Where had that bumbling child even gone?  Because, to him, it was like looking at an entirely different person!  

He could still smell the earthy, fresh scent of the outdoors that clung to Neville’s huge frame, as he leaned in almost close enough to touch.  The man was undeniably the most insanely gorgeous creature he had  _ ever  _ seen.  Thinking again of rough fingers brushing lightly over his own smooth skin, Theodore bit his lip and his mouth went dry.  He felt his cock stir as the simmering feelings he’d been trying to ignore all day rushed to the forefront of his mind.  

He’d bet every galleon the Nott family had left in its depleted coffers that Neville was built like a bull under the heavy robe’s he’d worn in the chilly, underground levels of the Department of Mysteries.  Closing his eyes, he pictured large hands pinning him roughly down, heavy fingers tearing away his clothing.  Hot breath panting out over heated skin.  

He wanted to  _ taste _ that mouth! He wanted to  _ devour _ it and feel the soft wetness against his own, to feel those soft lips that were fucking  _ made _ for kissing map his body.  

He yearned to feel hard muscles rolling beneath his hands.  

His body was flushed and he was harder than he’d ever been in his life.  Everything was shaky around the edges as though the world had lost an edge of reality as his fantasy vividly clashed with it.  With one more fast drag up on his cock, he was done for.  Screaming the name of his fantasy, he crashed over the edge of oblivion, spilling warm wetness into his hand.  

Breathing in harsh gasps, with eyes wide open, he slowly came down from realms of pure bliss.  It had been a long time since he’d indulged his body in this way, but—but that was the absolute—most intense thing he had  _ ever _ experienced.  His heart was still beating itself out of his chest, and everything was too hot and too oversensitive.  Even the sheets under him were somehow erotic against his sated skin.

Lazily, he cleaned himself up, and rolled under the sheets.  Bone tired, he fell asleep to a desperate voice in his mind hoping that Neville Longbottom would be there tomorrow.  He only needed to see him, Theodore told himself.  All he wanted was a look.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t that he was a messy person, Theodore thought to himself as he looked in the cold box for something to pack, he was actually fairly organized.  But it seemed like everything he owned was in a constant state of wrinkled carelessness.  It hadn’t bothered him until this morning, when he’d shoved through all of his drawers and closet spaces looking for a robe that looked decent.  He wouldn’t think about why he wanted to wear a nice robe… he wouldn’t!  It had nothing to do with a man who was sex on legs!

It turned out that all of his robes, while stored in organized drawers, were improperly folded and wrinkled as all hell.  What he wouldn’t do for a house elf… or some knowledge of basic household charms.

He had also brushed his hair this morning, much to the mirror’s delight (“why look at you, young man!  I never thought I’d see the day! You look  _ so _ handsome”). The blasted thing had received a vicious silencing hex, from a man trying desperately not to think about why he cared what he looked like. 

Grabbing some more tea from the kitchen (why he bothered when he must have had at least fifty of the things at work he didn’t know) he started toward the fireplace.

Okay, maybe he did know.  What if Nev— _ Foster _ didn’t like the tea from yesterday.  He had to be sure there was a wide variety just in case Long—damn it! Nope. Just in case  _ someone  _ was there again today.  

He looked at himself in the mirror again before he stepping into the floo and sighed.  At twenty years old he was still as ridiculously thin as he had been at fourteen.  At least his hair wasn’t a catastrophe, which was kind of nice, but nothing special.   _ He _ was nothing special.  ‘ _ A Disgrace _ ’ came an echo through his mind. ‘ _ Call yourself a pureblood? _ ’ He glared balefully at the home of his youth before throwing down the floopowder and shooting off to the ministry fireplaces.

When he stepped into the office he shared, Foster was too immersed in work to tease him and merely grunted a greeting at his presence.  Theodore copied him, by pulling open his own files and diving in.  The soothing sounds of ruffling paper, scratching quills, overhead memos, and sipped morning beverages filled the pleasant silence.  Foster had brought himself coffee this morning, and the bold smell of it lingered in the air.  

A couple hours passed uneventfully.  Theodore and Foster occasionally muttered theories and opinions across the space of the room.  Once, a man from the Time section ran past, carrying a squalling baby in his arms. However, as this was an event that happened quite often, neither man was much perturbed.

It was a prickle up his spine and a presence in the air that alerted Theodore that  _ he _ was in the room.  Back straightening so fast he might have had whiplash, he looked up and straight into the warm Hazel eyes that bore into him from the doorway.  

Without breaking eye contact, Neville Longbottom moved forward.  He moved with a grace that surprised the blue-eyed wizard, considering his bulk.  But his steps were as even and surefooted as someone on a mission, and his eyes held a testament to the same.  The hazel eyes that bore into dark blue were almost ferocious in their intensity.   _ This man _ wanted something.  Theodore belatedly realized that he wasn’t breathing.

When Neville was within range of combusting Theodore’s overheated body out of its skin, he stopped and gave him a slow, unbearably sexy smile.  Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of tea.

“I didn’t know what kind you preferred, so I went ahead and got one of those variety packs.” and, sweet Rowena, every word that came out of his mouth was like the most sensuous love sonnet. “Figured, it was only fair to offer you a trade this time.”  He set the box gently on the desk and that's when Theodore noticed that his hand, the  _ very _ hand that had touched his craving skin yesterday, was covered in a linen bandage.

“ _ Merlin _ ! What happened to your hand?” His own fingers fluttered nervously around the proffered appendage, not quite daring to touch, but really,  _ really _ wanting to.

Neville laughed and the sound washed over the room and made everything else seem dimmer by comparison.  “Oh, that was just Nellie! My plant!”

“You  _ named  _ your rabid plant?”

“She’s special!” Neville defended. “She deserves a name! And she might have gotten rather mad at me yesterday when I went to gather some of the pollen from her interior stamens.   _ That plant _ has got some really fast reflexes.  She uh… she whipped me pretty good across the fingers… nearly took off my pinkie!”  The way he said it made it sound like he was somehow  _ proud _ of the plant for its violent actions.

Theodore made a soft, horrified sort of noise and his eyes blew big and worried in his face.  “You could have been seriously hurt!” he seethed.

“Well it’s no fun if there’s no danger involved,” and his words were accompanied by a look of amusement at the brunette’s continued, quiet panic. “Seriously, I’m fine.  The healers fixed all the internal damage, and the bandages are just to make sure I don’t rip the scars open.”

Theodore made a rather pathetic noise, and wished he could have better control of his vocal cords when he was around this beautiful man.  As a Nott, he should really have better control of himself… but he didn’t.

The look the Gryffindor was giving him now was deadly in its heart-stopping accuracy. “But the tea’s not the only reason I came over here.”  Theodore would swear to merlin himself that the sexy voice dropped an octave and got even sexier.  “I was actually wondering if you were doing anything later? Because I’d like nothing better... than to meet you for dinner.”

A most unmanly squeak pressed out of Theodore’s lips. And then suddenly a ferocious wave of want and greed and  _ yespleaseyes _ consumed him and he blurted too loudly into the poignant silence, “Yes! Oh, Yes!… I’d—I’d really, really like that!”  

*

Neville was struck dumb for a second as the slytherin’s entire countenance changed.  His deep, blue eyes looked reverent as they bore into him, and he could see the desire etched over every feature of the beautiful face.  Never before had he been the subject of such a look, and he yearned for nothing  more than to yank the slight man to his feet and shove his tongue down the swan-like throat.  His body thrummed with energy and he viciously shoved down his passion.

With tremors of need still traveling through him, he grasped at his composure like a shield and managed to ask in a gentle, calm voice if the exquisite creature (for no mere  _ man _ could he be) before him thought six in the evening would do, at the Three Broomsticks.  

“That sounds amazing!” was the breathless reply.  Neville watched as literal stars exploded behind Theodore’s eyes, and it was then that he knew the pull he felt towards the slender man was not unreciprocated.  In fact, from what he could tell, it seemed fully returned! 

He couldn’t stop himself from leaning in a little to inhale the delicate scent of herbs and parchment that lingered in the air around Theodore.  Knowing he should go, but not yet content, he reached out and tucked some errant hair behind Theodore’s ear, lingering longingly on the silken skin under his touch.  The sharp, longing gasp that Theodore uttered at his rough touch somehow brought him to his senses and he stepped back.  Throwing the slytherin one last look of pure want, he retreated from the room.

Before he made it out of earshot he heard the excited voice of Theodore’s co-worker say, “Somebody throw out a cooling charm, because it is  _ scorching _ in here!” 

*

“Do you know any household charms?”  Theodore asked Foster after he was done with his merciless teasing.

“Why?”

“All of my robes are wrinkled and I don’t know how to properly fold them.  And I don’t know any ironing charms or anything.  We used to have a house elf, but father killed her in a fit of pique just before the final battle.”

Abraham Foster flinched at the added information before shrugging apologetically. “My wife is the one to ask about that sort of thing.  I know about as much about household charms as goblins know how to share gold.

“You can come to ours after work. You’ll have time.  She’ll fix you up in a jiffy.”

“Thanks,” Theodore said in slight astonishment, and then, “are we friends?”

His words were met by a loud laugh and a shake of the head, which he supposed was as much an answer as anything.

Theodore was so nervous he was shaking by the end of the day, equal parts wildly excited and terrified.  Before he stepped into the floo, Foster handed him a scrap of parchment with his home address written on it, and then punched his arm for good luck.  He tried his best to glare at the offensive camaraderie, but failed miserably in the face of other pressing emotions boiling under the surface. 

Whirling through the floo, he stepped out and was immediately on edge for an entirely different, far more sinister reason.  

The manor looked the same as ever.  Same dark, victorian wallpaper, and dusty, far-too-intricate decorations.  It was the  _ feeling _ that was all wrong.  It was the same feeling that Theodore had when he was a child and his father was stalking somewhere in the dark.  The same bone chilling numbness and tingling on the back of his neck that had him turning into an apparition even before he saw the dark spell come flying at him from out of the musty shadows.  

The blinding shock of bright colors and sunlight, combined with what he knew was the closest miss of his life, had him retching onto the cobblestones.  His palms and face were clammy and his vision blurred for a few precious moments as his stomach emptied before he stumbled forward into diagon alley.  His brain was still not completely functioning, but primal instincts had him looking for shelter.  He knew he needed somewhere public, and he also wanted to be out of the open street, and into someplace with walls that he could put behind his back so that he could  _ breathe _ .  

Whatever spell it was, it had gotten so close that he could still feel the sluggish  _ wrongness _ of it coating his skin and it left a bad taste in his throat.  He stumbled quickly into the closest shop he could see and hastily moved away from the door.  

It was at this point that his hearing returned to him past the overwhelming  _ thudump, thudump, thudump _ of his frantically beating heart, and he began to take note of the cacophony  of animal noises assaulting his ears.  He’d stumbled right  into Magical Menagerie.  

After making his way to the very back end of the store, and crouching behind some large cages with giant tortoises in them, he finally felt as though he had room to breathe.  Instantly he cursed himself for leaving the manor relatively unwarded.  _ Of course _ there were people out there who would jump at the chance to hurt the son of a death eater.  He had foolishly assumed that his very private lifestyle, and his tendency to blend into the background would keep him safe.  But there was obviously someone out there with a grudge.

He knew he should probably go to the ministry and report what had just happened to the auror department, but he couldn’t actually bring himself to move and belatedly realized he was hyperventilating.  Even after diagnosing the reason behind the tiny black spots starting to appear in his eyes, he found he was powerless to stop it.  All he could think about was the malevolent presence in his house and the curse which had almost consumed him.  And this present threat was blurring heavily with memories of feeling trapped in his own home, the overbearing presence of his father behind every doorway and the promise of pain.  

A large white blur shoved some of the dancing black spots out of the way and he felt a heavy warmth press against his chest.  A slow rumbling filled the air around him, and to his surprise he started to calm down and the white blur sharpened until he could see the form of a huge kneazle rubbing against him soothingly.  It’s big, ivory head stretched up and rubbed against his throat and then a hot, raspy tongue suddenly licked his ear.  The large animal brought with it such a weight of soothing comfort that Theodore didn’t think twice before grabbing it and pulling it close to his torso.

The blessed animal’s purring ramped up a meter and it continued to unabashedly lick his face.  The sandpaper tongue seemed to cleanse away the  _ wrongness _ clinging to him and he smiled as his panic faded away. It was then that he remembered what kneazles were best known for: detecting suspicious persons.  Decision made, he allowed himself another few minutes of time with the kneazle before standing up with the beast in his arms.  It was so big, he could barely hold it, and the kneazle clawed up his robes so it could half-hang over his shoulder and look around his head.  

Theodore clung to it like a thirsting man to water and shakily walked to the counter, hands buried in the soft, white fur.  

“How much for the kneazle?” he asked the man behind the counter.

“Yeh havva licence?” retorted the man, clearly distrustful.

“There should be one on file from when I was a child.”  His mother had gifted him one when he was very young; of course, the thing had hated father so much that it had been killed after hissing too aggressively at the man.

“Name?” the shopkeeper asked as he turned toward some unassuming file cabinets.

“Theodore Nott.”

It quickly became apparent that the file cabinets were  _ not  _ unassuming as he opened a drawer and rifled through  _ far _ more files than could possibly fit, until he pulled out a very slim folder, licked his finger, opened it and skimmed through the contents before looking up at Theodore balefully and muttering, “acceptable,” as if it were all Theodore’s fault that he had to expend so much effort.

“Tha’ll be twenty galleons then.” And grudgingly he tacked on, “need anythin’ else?”

“What’s his name?” 

“Albho.”

The kneazle twisted around so it could stare into Theodore’s face with intelligent yellow eyes rimmed in pink and Theodore smiled at it. “Hello, Albho,” he said, then paid and left the store.

His feline companion attracted a few looks as he walked to the Leaky Cauldron, and he started twitching again under the onslaught of such scrutiny; however, they made it there without incident, and he stepped into the floo with Albho and cried out, “Ministry of Magic.”

The ministry was still fairly busy at this time of day, and he had to shoulder his way past a few people to get to the lifts, with a little help from Albho, who hissed threateningly at anyone who got too close.

By the time he got to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement he was more than a little wrung out especially after one female ministry employee attempted to stop him, saying shilly, “you can’t bring  _ that _ into the Ministry!” and pointed an accusatory finger at the kneazle.

By this point, Theodore had had more than enough from this trying day, and hissed haughtily, “I’ll thank you  _ not _ to tell me what I can and can’t do. I can see by your insignia that you’ve been here less than a year and don’t know how these things work, but I’m an  _ Unspeakable _ and I can do whatever the  _ bloody hell _ I feel like! If that includes bringing a kneazle into the workplace than I don’t see how that’s any of your  _ blasted _ business!”

The poor woman barely managed to stutter out an apology before he pushed past her rudely.

So now he was seated outside the DMLE, waiting impatiently for an auror and being snuggled by Albho, who demanded petting in return for being such an amazing bodyguard.

“Erm, Nott, Theodore?” 

He looked up and stifled a groan when he saw the shock of red hair. Of  _ course _ he was assigned a Weasley.  And not just any of the litter, but the famous Ronald Weasley, right hand man to the Savior himself. At least he was good. In fact, by what he’d heard, he was the best in the department.

“Yes, I was attacked in my home,” he explained shortly and stood up.

“Follow me then. We’ll have to ask you a series of questions to make sure we have a full account.” 

When they sat down at the redhead’s cubicle, covered in wanted posters, and scraps of paper connected to different cases, the traitorous Albho hopped onto the desk between them, purred warmly at Weasley, and started playing with a wadded up piece of parchment.  Weasley gave the feline a look of deep distrust and Theodore smirked.

What followed was a series of what seemed like endless questions. ‘Are you hurt?’ ‘Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt you (“I’m the child of a death eater, what do  _ you  _ think?”)?’ ‘Did he hear anything before the attack or during?’

By the end he was wrung out, but Weasley had even more for him.  With a gentle, soothing voice, completely at odds to the hotheaded, brash youth Theodore remembered, he said,

“We’re going to send a team of aurors over to your house to process the scene.  We’ll be looking for any residual magic that can help us identify the spell that was cast, see if there’s anyone still in the house, and basically look for anything unusual.” The smile he directed at Theodore was calming, and since he couldn’t really find any reason to argue it (and highly doubted he’d be allowed much say anyways) he nodded his acquiescence. “Do you have someone to stay with, or will you be able to find an inn?  We have someone that can assist you—”

“I have somewhere to stay, thank you!” he said quickly, as his pride couldn’t take much more, and he absentmindedly fingered the address in his pocket.

“Great. Uhm, of course we’ll be keeping you posted as to the ongoing investigation.”

“Thank you,” Theodore said, gathered up his fluffy white companion and headed to the lifts again.  This was the truly turning out to be the most  _ interminably _ long day.  Now to the floo fireplaces… again.  

He stepped into the floo and was whooshed into the grate of Abraham Foster’s home.  He could only see the one room, but it looked cozy.  Frames filled with loved ones littered the walls and the mantle of the fireplace.  The floor had a thick rug, a squishy red armchair, and a squashed loveseat.  The window looked out into the countryside.  

“Foster?” he called out uncertainly.

“I didn’t know you had a kneazle,” Foster said, walking into the room.

“His name’s Albho. I purchased him today after someone attacked me in my home,” he stated and waited for the theatrics. He was not dissapointed.

“WHAT?! You were  _ attacked _ ? What the  _ hell?” _

“Is your house warded?” Theodore asked blandly.

At this point, a weathered, slim woman entered the room. She had dark hair pulled back into a no-nonsense braid and her eyes were sharp and intelligent. “Of course it is,” she said and placed a soothing hand on her bewildered husband’s arm.

“In that case,” Theodore continued, “I was wondering if I could impose on you and ask to stay the night while the aurors are in the manor.

“Abraham has told me all about you, young man,” said the woman. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.  I’m Haralda Foster, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” And she stretched out her hand in welcome.

Theodore didn’t think he’d ever met a more put together woman in his life, and he took her firm grip with no small amount of astonishment.  

It seemed her calm and straightforward demeanor had put her husband back to rights as well, because he was all wit when he said, “Poor Longbottom must have been crushed.  He looked about ready to  _ eat  _ you earlier, and now he has to  _ worry _ about your pretty little arse instead!”

Theodore barely registered Haralda smacking her husband upside the head with a reproachful, “Abe!”

He blanched and dropped Albho who clawed him as he went down. The date! He had completely forgotten about the date! And it was already nine in the evening!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of this chapter has very little dialogue, because it has more to do with the feelings and actions of the characters, but I promise it picks up. Thank you for continuing to read :)

*

Neville hadn’t actually been out on a date in some time, and was a little surprised that he had arranged to go on one now.  However, he only had to look back and remember fathomless blue eyes in the most beguiling face he’d ever seen, to know why he had been so forward.  For merlin’s sake, the very thought of the man made him grow warm, and desire pooled low in his belly.

When he had first set eyes on Theodore, he had immediately remembered the quiet youth from Hogwarts.  It was hard not to remember those you were compared to, and while Neville had been the subject of copious amounts of Snape’s ire, the thin youth on the slytherin side of the classroom was the focus of praise.  The old resentment had simmered beneath the surface, but then Neville had taken a good  _ look _ at the man.  It didn’t take much time to realize that, much like Neville himself, Theodore  had changed profoundly.

Everything about him was somehow  _ softer _ .  He still sat with the inborn elegance of a born and raised pureblood, but there was a  _ relaxed _ quality that he hadn’t seen in the youth that had attended Hogwarts.  Everything from the wrinkled, bachelor clothes, to the well-used work space (no self-respecting pureblood took an average job) screamed at a change in personality.   _ This _ was not a man who jumped when his father said, “jump.”  He was a man who had quite obviously found his own way in life, and was living it.

Neville found that extremely appealing. After all, he knew better than anyone, what it took to challenge yourself into becoming the person you were meant to.  The trembling Neville who had first arrived at Hogwarts didn’t hold a flame to the teenager who had  _ chopped Nagini’s head off _ !

He didn’t think too hard about why he lagged behind at the ministry floos to watch when Theodore left, but it made him smile when Theodore exchanged a few words with Unspeakable Foster and then scowled prettily when he was punched lightly.  When Theodore stepped into the floo, so did Neville.

His home greeted him with all its warm comforts when he stepped across the hearth.  It was a small cottage that was part of the Longbottom estates, but he had chosen it because of its enormous walled garden in the front, and the three greenhouses behind.  The abundance of space for his plants, meant that he didn’t feel the need to have any plants inside the house, so it resonated a cosy, warm home atmosphere, and the ever-open windows brought in the smell of the outdoors.  

He walked up the timeworn wooden steps to the mezzanine where his bedroom was, and opened his wardrobe.  Immediately, he pushed away the garments he had bought with Luna; while fun to wear, they were always halfway-atrocious, and definitely not material for the date that he was looking forward to so enthusiastically.  Instead, he pulled out a pair of jeans he knew would hug the muscles in his developed legs, and a green button down.

He showered, dressed, and then read a some of the novel Hermione had gifted him with over a year ago that he never seemed to have time for, until the clock said half past five.  And that was when his patience snapped and he apparated to Hogsmeade, despite knowing how early it still was. To feel a little less pathetic, he walked around for another fifteen minutes, greeting a couple people who recognised him, and window shopping.

He was unsurprised to see that Theodore was not there when he made his way back to the Three Broomsticks and ordered a table for two, and a bottle of knotgrass mead.  When the minute hand hit the twelve, he was a little disappointed, but not altogether  _ unsurprised  _ that Theodore hadn’t made it on time. he was a rather disheveled-looking young man, after all.

But the minutes continued to drag on, and he started getting looks of pity from the waitress and his feeling of disappointment grew until it was tinged with a bit of anger. After exactly twenty minutes he left a few sickles for the barely-touched alcohol, stood up, left the restaurant, and apparated back to his cottage.  

Stomping over to one of his greenhouses he wondered moodily how the eagerly awaited evening could have turned so impossibly sour. He pulled on his work gloves and set to work trimming his largest venomous tentacula. It was an egregious job that he had been putting off for a while, but it needed to be done and he needed to work off some of his feeling.  It didn’t take long before he was completely focused on the plant, it’s deadly teeth, and painful projectile venom taking forethought in his mind.

Hours later he was distracted from his task by the rapping of an owl beak upon glass.  He swore harshly when the dragonfire flower he was repotting took advantage of his distraction and  scorched his forearm. Annoyed at the thing, he grabbed it firmly around the stem, shoved it into the larger planter and packed some dirt around the edges.  The dragonfire flower hissed spitefully at him.

He walked outside to retrieve the letter the owl was carrying and brought it back inside the cottage to read, as it was dark outside, and he didn’t want to chance the vulnerable parchment on the whims of his plants.

He opened it once he got inside, lighting the candles with a careless wave of his hand.  It read:

_ Dear _ _ Longbottom, _

_ I’m so terribly sorry about missing our date, as I was very much looking forward to it.  But you see, an unfortunate incident occurred when I flooed to the manor after work.  The manor was occupied by a malignant person, who attempted to curse me, and, though I did get away, the experience left me rattled. I’m afraid that even after dealing with the auror’s questions, I was still so very shaken that I forgot all about you. As inexcusable as this may be,  _ _ I beg you to forgive me, and _ _ maybe we can set another date? _

_ Sincerely  _ _ yours _ _ ,  _

_ Theodore Nott _

Neville stared at the letter in dismay..  Amid all the flowery words, there was only one thing that really mattered.  Theodore had been attacked!

*

Theodore tossed about fitfully on bed that Haralda Foster had shown him to.  The room was everything a spare bedroom should be, with a quaint white dresser and side table, and a thick, homely quilt over the bed. Eventually giving up on sleep, he sat on the edge of the bed and stared out the window anxiously.

The Fosters had invited him graciously into their little home.  Haralda had sent her husband off to boil water for tea after he couldn’t shut up about Theodore standing up his  _ first ever _ date and nearly sending him into hysterics at the thought of Longbottom waiting for  _ hours _ while he simply  _ never showed up _ ! She had shown him to a study, where he quickly inked off an embarrassing note that had to have several key words scratched off, and then the house owl had taken it in its sharp claws and flown out the window.  

Haralda clearly saw how the stress of the afternoon was getting to him and firmly led him to the guest room with instructions to set his robe outside the door and she would clean them for him for tomorrow. 

Indeed, when he opened the door a little later, he found a clean night-shirt and a steaming cup of tea waiting on the floor and he exchanged them for his robes. He felt rather ridiculous wearing the pale blue night shirt which was much too big for him.  But it was comfortable and clean and smelled like lavender, so he wore it anyway.

Albho saw the pale grey owl against the inky sky before he did, and yowled softly to get his attention.  He jumped up and threw open the window to receive the owl, who flew softly through the window and dropped a scrap of parchment in his eager hands and then flew back out. It read simply:

_ I’m glad you’re safe, please stay that way until I see you tomorrow. _

Which was basically the most unspecific note  _ ever _ ! It didn’t even give a hint as to what the gryffindor was feeling.  He could read that note in about five different tones.  Was he angry? Annoyed? He had no idea how he was going to be able to wait until tomorrow to get the answers he was craving.

“He  _ hates _ me, Albho,” he told his kneazle despondently.  The white feline’s tongue rasped across his arm in a consolatory sort of way. “And I really like him,” he continued as he pulled the quilt up over his slight shoulders and laid back down against the pillows.  “He’s handsome,” he yawned, “and he smells like a nice garden… with sort of—edible things in it… and flowers...hmn.”

If a kneazle could look amused, this one certainly did as it looked at it’s sleeping owner.  The white beast then happily stretched across its master’s body, and succumbed to sleep as well.

Theodore’s sleep was not untroubled. After such an emotional day, his dreams were full of shadowy figures lurking down corridors, and whispered spells that caught him unaware.  He woke early, with a light sheen of sweat causing the night-shirt to stick to him and he wandered into the hallway on bare feet in search of a shower.  It didn’t take him long.  The bathroom door was open in invitation and he stepped inside and turned on the hot spray gratefully.  The heat did wonders for his cramped muscles and he stayed in until his fingers were pruny.  It was as he hung the towel up after drying himself that he saw his robes on the bathroom sink, folded neatly and with not a wrinkle in sight.

His blood rushed in his ears as he realized that Mrs. Foster had entered the bathroom  _ while he showered _ ! He hadn’t been naked and so close to another person since changing in the Hogwarts dormitories! He put on his robes, still mortified, and left the bathroom and walked toward the sound of noise.

“Good morning Mr. Nott,” Haralda greeted him as he entered the kitchen.  The sight of her very stoic and completely unperturbed face chased away Theodore’s embarrassment. If she could act like invading a man’s bathing space was perfectly acceptable, so could he, damn it!

“I hope you like eggs and sausage.  It’s what I make every morning for breakfast, and I am a creature of habit,” Haralda said drily.

“You don’t have to make me breakfast, Mrs. Foster. I can pick something up at the Ministry.”

She looked at him for the span of a few seconds, said, “nonsense,” and that was that.  He was soon eating eggs and sausage.

He almost  _ choked _ on his sausage when Abraham Foster walked into the kitchen, wearing nothing but an untied bathrobe and striped boxers. Haralda looked at her husband in disapproval, but looked resigned to the fact that this was one battle she would never win. 

That didn’t stop her from sighing, “really, Abe, we have a  _ guest _ !” to which he flashed an impertinent smile.

“Thank you very much for the breakfast and the room, Mrs. Foster,” Theodore said. “I was wondering if I could impose a bit more, and ask if I could leave my kneazle here for the day.  I promise we’ll both be out of your hair as soon as the aurors give me permission to return to the manor.”

Haralda, who seemed to mostly allow things to flow the way they would, gave him a nod and a smile.  But her husband opened a mouth with a half chewed bite of sausage, and said, “you can stay as long as you like! We could always use a little entertainment!” Haralda pinched his ear and he winced and then smiled at her cheekily and gave her a saucy wink.

“Um, well, thank you,” Theodore muttered. “I’m going to head to work though. I’ll see you in a little while.”

Before he stepped into the floo, Haralda handed him a sack lunch in an extremely motherly gesture that made confused feelings swirl in his chest, and a lump catch in his throat.  

“You’ve been a delightful guest, and like my husband so inelegantly put it, you’re welcome to stay until you’re back on your feet. Your white companion seems a fine specimen as well, and I’m sure I shall enjoy his company when I get back from work before you two.”

“Thank you,” he said and was relieved to find that his voice didn’t croak as he thought he would.  He stepped hastily into the floo before the last of his dignity left him, and stepped out into the ministry to begin another day.  

The closer he got to the department of mysteries, the more nervous he became about his inevitable confrontation with the walking sex god, Neville Longbottom.  He’d never been on a date, let alone ever been stood up, but he couldn’t imagine it was a very good feeling.  Neville must have felt just  _ awful _ ! Sitting there all alone, waiting for a man who never showed up, who didn’t even have the decency to send an owl and explain why he couldn’t be there!  The large blonde man must have been confused and angry for  _ hours  _ before the letter arrived. It was nothing less than a complete  _ tragedy _ , is what it was.

His heart shot into his throat and he jumped in shock when he entered the office, and the gorgeous wizard was  _ there! In the office!  _ Sitting in  _ Theodore’s _ chair!... looking sexy as all hell.  Theodore hadn’t even taken a step into the room when the powerfully built man, whose eyes were trained on the door, stood up and took a quick few strides until the distance between them vanished.  Theodore was pretty sure he was hallucinating at that point, because strong arms wrapped around him and he was enveloped in a warm hug that smelled of wind and sunshine.  Happiness exploded in his chest with a force that collided with the way his chest felt too big and his stomach felt too tight as his very  _ insides _ tried to rearrange themselves to be closer to that all-consuming warmth!  He basked in it.

Neville pulled away a little, without breaking contact, so that he could look the smaller wizard in the eye.  

“I’ve never felt like a bigger arsehole in my life,” were the first words out of his mouth, and Theodore couldn’t stop the helpless giggle that left him in the face of such a bald sentence.

Neville looked quite a bit, well,  _ wrecked _ , now that Theodore had a good look at him. There were purple half-moons under his eyes that attested to a sleepless night, and worry was etched all over his beautiful face (Theodore had to resist the urge to kiss them away). In an astonishing turn of events, it was Neville who had rumpled robes, and unbrushed hair!

He still looked incredible though.  Neville  _ definitely _ pulled off the ‘just out of bed’ look. Theodore’s tongue darted out to wet his suddenly dry lips and Neville’s eyes followed the quick sweep of his tongue. They both swallowed and seemed to draw marginally closer together. 

Neville’s hand drew unconscious circles on his back, and it felt like a hot brand, through his clothing, pushing straight into his aching skin.  He could feel a tremble begin to resonate where he was being touched and wanted to beg for more, but also didn’t want to say anything.  Didn’t want to break the moment and have those strong, warm hands leave him.

“What happened?” the soft question broke through the loaded silence.  “Your letter was so vague that I’ve been on tenterhooks, waiting to see you. You didn’t even specify if you were  _ hurt _ !” Theodore tensed a little at the forceful tone, and asked the question he dreaded the answer to.

“Are you mad I missed our date?”

The arms holding his loosened, and Theodore clung to the thin shreds of comfort the embrace had given him.  But then he was suddenly enveloped in the heat of the other man, who held onto him tightly and cradled Theodore to him like something precious.

“Don’t ask fucking ridiculous questions,” the blonde said gruffly.  “You have no idea how worried I was after receiving your letter.  I know—I know we don’t even know each other, but you  _ mean _ something to me.  The depth of the feelings I have developed for you so quickly scare me with their intensity.  I don’t know what I would do if something were to happen to you before I even got the chance to explore those feelings and learn more about you.”

Theodore trembled in the strong grasp of the larger man. “These are not the sort of words you can simply say to another person, unawares.”

Neville paled and and his face became etched in misery, certain that he had overstepped some boundary.  But before he could apologize, Theodore continued in a small voice.

“My heart—it beats so much faster when I am simply in your presence.  If you continue saying such tender things—it could very well explode.  You are not the only one unaffected by such—ardent—feelings, Longbottom.  I’m quite sure I’ve never felt anything this intense in my life…”

He didn’t get to continue. Neville, apparently, could no longer take his sweet words, for one hand went to the back of Theodore’s neck and tilted his head up so their lips could meet.  Theodore’s gasp was greedily swallowed by firm lips that  _ took _ what was offered.  They kissed with fervor, uncaring that they were in the middle of the ministry. Uncaring to anything but the slide of lips. When Theodore’s mouth opened to Neville’s questioning touches, the blonde’s tongue instantly delved inside, mapping out every sweet contour, and drawing out a low, endless moan, that Theodore seemed helpless to stop.  He only knew he wanted  _ more,  _ more, more! 

The frenzied words must have made their way past the soul-sucking mouths attached desperately to each other, because Neville lifted him up for real and shoved him hard against the nearest wall, deepening the kiss and drawing cries of lust and high pitched whimpers from the other wizard who was trembling in need.

They might have ended up fucking right then and there against a public ministry wall had not a loud wolf whistle broken through the haze of lust and magic that surrounded them.  Abraham Foster, the bloody bastard, was leaning in the door jam, smirking shamelessly at the both of them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like things are about to get a little steamy ;)
> 
> ~

Neville gently lowered Theodore to the ground.  The brunette looked completely fucked out, eyes glassy and lips swollen and shiny with spit.  His robes were in disarray and his hair was wild.  Neville didn’t look much better, chest heaving with the exertion it took not to simply jump the kissed-breathless Theodore and screw who was watching!

“I see you two have made up,” said the infuriating older wizard.  Neville shot him a poisonous glare, and Theodore whined piteously.

The force of Neville’s look seemed to be enough to slightly unravel the perpetually cheerful Unspeakable Foster, who moved over to his desk with a muttered, “I’ll just start on my paperwork, then.”

Theodore couldn’t move. His legs wouldn’t support him, and if it weren’t for Neville’s strong grip, he’d be slumped on the floor by now.  He couldn’t stop staring at Neville’s face, (the face he had just been kissing!)  or at the evidence his lips had left behind on the soft lips of that decadent mouth. He sucked in a sharp breath of air when those warm eyes found his once again. The intensity behind those blown-black eyes was breathtaking and he wanted nothing more than to continue where they had left off! Neville exhaled gently and pressed his forehead to Theodore’s. Their breath mingled in the small space between them as Neville spoke softly.

“I’m glad you’re okay. Can I talk to you again after work’s over? Maybe take you somewhere?”

Theodore didn’t know where his brain had wandered off to, but it certainly wasn’t in his head! Godric, the man’s voice was pure, undiluted, sex! Whoever invented robes had to have been a randy bastard, and he had never been more glad for the concealing layers of his garment. He found it in himself to dumbly nod at Neville’s question, and unbidden, a smile of pure happiness blossomed to life on his face.

Neville looked stunned for a moment, and then he leaned in swiftly to plant another firm kiss to Theodore’s mouth. “I’ll see you after work then,” he whispered into Theodore’s ear, causing a full-body shiver to wrack it’s way through the wizard.

And just like that, he was gone, and Theodore smiled blissfully into the air that had once held his presence.

“You look completely, and utterly, like a love-stuck idiot,” Foster smirked from his desk. “I think I have some pink ink in my drawer if you want to borrow it when you doodle ‘Teddy Longbottom’ all over your notes!”

Theodore didn’t think he could scowl if he tried, so he continued to smile happily as he took his seat.

“You don’t happen to have any of my notes though, do you?” Foster asked.

“No. Why?” asked Theodore, dreamily.

“Nothing, it’s just—and this  _ is _ bothersome—I couldn’t find a few of my pages when I was doing inventory. They could have disappeared at any time over the last couple days. How  _ bloody frustrating _ ! Now I’m going to have to write up a ‘Loss of Confidential Materials’ report!”

“Sucks to be you!”

“I  _ know _ !” Foster whined.

At that moment an interdepartmental memo entered the office space and hovered in front of Theodore’s eyes.  He opened it, and skimmed the short missive:

_ Mr. Theodore Nott, _

_ We have information concerning the state of your property and the ongoing investigation into your case.  Please report to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at your earliest convenience for extenuating information. _

_ Senior Auror Weasley, R. _

“The aurors have some information for me,” he said by way of explanation to Foster, who looked up curiously when he stood from his chair.

“Come back with something cool to tell me. This form is going to be so  _ boring _ !”

And that’s how he found himself back in Weasley’s disorganized cubicle.  The red-headed giant looked up as he entered and the look of relief that crossed his face could only be attributed to the fact that, this time around, there was no kneazle in sight.

“Please, take a seat,” Weasley said, all business. And Theodore did.

“We’ve finished with your home, although until you get some serious wards up, I’d recommend staying away.  We  _ have _ set up a simple detection perimeter in case the perpetrator decides to revisit.”

Theodore nodded his head at the information, and Weasley cracked open the heavy folder in front of him.  It had the words, ‘NOTT, T. A.’ boldly stamped on the cover.

“All right, well—unfortunately, we were not able to put a trace on the magical signature, because they used a portkey to leave, and while apparition tends to leave a  bit of residue, portkeys contain all the magic of transportation inside the object. We  _ were _ able to obtain a sample of the criminal’s magical signature though. So if he strikes again, we’ll be able to match it, and hopefully gather more evidence.  You’re—ahem—you were  _ very _ lucky to have left the home as quickly as you did.  Am I right in assuming that you were standing in front of the fireplace in the master study?”

“Yes.”

“Then—yes. Very lucky indeed.  When we arrived at the scene, you had a giant fuc—erm, a rather large hole in the wall.  And we aren’t sure what sort of spell might have done it.  The fireplace, and a good bit of your wall have disappeared.  The lines a extremely clean, cleaner than a cutting hex! And none of the usual debris that one would find with a blasting curse was present, in fact, no debris at all! To be honest, we’re at abit of a loss. We even brought in Harry—uh—Auror Potter, if you will. He’s pretty good at recognizing the aura a spell leaves behind. And he said it was either something new, or something he’d never encountered before!”

“So you don’t really know anything?” Theodore said in disappointment.

“Do you know of a spell that vanishes anything in its path?” Weasley asked in defence.

“Well, no.  The only thing I can think of is a transfiguration into something small, which was then pocketed.  But you can’t transfigure  _ part _ of a wall, you can only transfigure the whole thing which in this case would be the entire  _ manor _ !”

“Then you see our dilemma. We are by no means going to let this case drop to the wayside.  It’s obvious that someone wanted to do you some serious harm! But as it stands, without a new lead, we’re currently at a standstill.”

The thought of his attacker having such a leg up made Theodore uncomfortable, but he wasn’t sorted into Slytherin for nothing! True, his emotions seemed to get the better of him around a certain, tall, muscled, beautiful man, but he could at least manage to pull a poker face in front of  _ Weasley _ !

“Do you know of any good ward setters then?” he asked calmly and if Weasley was impressed he didn’t show it. The redhead rifled through  one of his drawers for a moment before coming out with a stack of business cards. He sorted through them until he came to the one he  he was looking for.

“I’d recommend her, Faye Pucey. She’s older than time, but that woman can ward like no other.  Not a  _ single _ Pucey died during the war, did you know that?” Theodore could practically  _ see _ the respect, and slight resentment, shining in Weasley’s blue eyes. “For the last  two years, they all hid behind her wards, and look at them now. Not a scratch on them! I’m pretty sure they could have lived behind those wards for the rest of their lives, if we hadn’t won!”

Theodore took the card. “Thank y—”

But at that moment a brilliant silver stag burst into the small space. He had never seen it before, but Theodore knew about Potter’s Patronus and knew that this was his.  A moment later the Wizard’s powerful voice echoed within the small space.

“Ron, I need you at Malfoy Manor! Mr. and Mr. Malfoy went missing on their walk, and the magical signature is the same as in your Nott case!”

Weasley stood up abruptly. “Excuse me, Mr. Nott.  I have to attend to this.  Please stay somewhere safe until your home is properly warded.”

“I will,” Theodore said to the air, as Weasley was already out the door.

As he walked back to the Department of Mysteries, he thought about the ramifications of what he’d just heard.  If the same person who had attacked him had also obliterated Draco Malfoy and his father, then anyone with death eater ties was in presumable danger.  The Aurors might not even know if some of them had already been targeted, as a great many of them had disappeared into seclusion after the war.  No one would even notice if they went missing! Ironically, the very safest of the lot would probably be the ones who ended up in Azkaban.  The wizarding prison had been so well fortified since the Dark Lord’s downfall, that not even a bug could sneak in or out!

Foster had finished filling out his Loss of Confidential Materials form by the time he got back and was apparating back and forth across the room with a look of extreme concentration on his face.

“Teddy!” Foster cried, popping into place right in front of Theodore’s nose. “You’ve got something good for me, right.  Some nice case gossip to help wile out the remainder of the day?” He looked at Theodore with the most beseeching look he’d ever seen and it was so amusing to see a  _ grown man _ look at him that way, that he snorted a little.

“You are a child,” he said and settled in at his desk, pretending to leaf through his papers and set up his tea, and ignoring the pouting looks Foster kept throwing him.  He hid his slight smile behind a folder and then said in a more sober tone, “Malfoy senior and his son have both gone missing from outside Malfoy Manor.”

“Woah! So it’s a plot! Some crazy  _ maniac _ is going around eliminating death eaters and their spawn!” 

Theodore winced, and Foster noticed.

“Oh, everyone knows you’re not  _ spawn _ , Nott! I read your trial in the paper just like everyone else did. You don’t have a mark, and you were at Hogwarts that last year!” he said, completely unrepentant.

Theodore quietly sipped his tea and they spent the remainder of the day in silence.  He composed a letter to Faye Pucey, and diligently continued working on his notes.  And of course, he daydreamed about large, warm hands, and possessive eyes. Towards the end of the day the only thing that he could focus on was the prospect of his date with Longbottom, and hopefully, a continuation of their—earlier activities. The thought made him shiver and now that he had allowed him mind along that track, he couldn’t seem to stop it. Images plagued him mind, each more debauched than the last until he was sitting rigidly at his desk, his fingers clenched tightly in his pants and his eyes glazed, and the absolute  _ mother _ of all hard ons straining his pants. 

If he got up to take care of it, he was sure Foster would notice and the thought was  _ beyond _ humiliating. But it was starting to  _ hurt, _ and he still couldn’t chase away the fantasies of Neville Longbottom looming over him and doing  _ wicked _ things with his talented mouth and tongue to his body.

_ Fuck _ he was hard!

He was to the point where he was honestly wondering if he could get away with wanking himself under the desk when the subject of his fantasy walked through the door, and when he glanced at the hour it was already the end of the work day!  Not wasting any time, he opened a drawer in his desk and unceremoniously  _ shoved _ all his notes into it and locked it, and not a moment too soon.  

Neville stalked over to his desk and ripped him up from his chair. His eyes were so intense and full of lust, that Theodore nearly came in his pants and he happily stumbled behind as he was dragged from the office and into a bathroom.  Neville flung a locking and silencing spell at the door and then Theodore found himself pushed into the wall.

Immediately, Neville’s hands were everywhere, blazing searing hot trails of need into his skin and he arched into the touch, already so on edge.

“So fucking sexy…” Neville murmured into his skin, his lips and tongue licking up the pale expanse of neck.  “I’ve been hard since this morning… thinking about you… tasting your sweet skin on my lips… aching for this… sexy… fuckable… body…”

The smaller wizard cried out his passion, and it was eaten straight out of his mouth by a pair of greedy lips. “Need… I need it… please… I want you!”

“Fuck! Theo… let me have you!”

“Yes! Merlin yes… please!”

“You don’t have a single clue… what you do to me… I wanted to take this _ slow _ !” and Neville’s voice had an edge to it, almost like he was angry at Theodore for ruining those plans. “But look at you… fucking  _ look at you! _ I’d have to lose my damn mind to stop touching you… You’re just  _ giving  _ yourself to me, aren’t you?... Want me to take you… and… mark you all up…”

The rest of what he was going to say was drowned out in the needy growl that ripped out his throat and Theodore’s equally desperate, “Take me!... Fuck… Yes!”

And then with brute strength, Neville ripped at Theodore’s robes until he was left panting and delirious, sagging against the wall, his firm, little torso on display as the shredded robes hung lifelessly off of his bared shoulders.  Two hard, pink nubs jutted out from his smooth, alabaster skin and with a something akin to devotion, Neville’s hands played the length of his frame, paying special attention to the stiff peaks on the heaving chest.  Theodore’s hips jutted frantically against air, his breath catching every time he managed to rub himself against some part of the larger man. He was entirely uncaring of what a desperate fool he was making of himself, only yearning and burning for more of the delectable feast the blonde was offering him.

But then Neville was moving down, until his hands were playing at the waist of his trousers, and his thumbs caressed the sensitive inside of his hips and he moaned loudly and unashamed.

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” Neville told him bluntly, staring straight into lust-blown, blue eyes. “I’ve been dying to get a taste of you all this long, bloody  _ unending _ day!” And it was a miracle that the smaller wizard wasn’t coming on the spot with the way those words yanked at his desire like a physical thing, stretching it taut to breaking until he was as strung out as a live wire.

But there were no more words as large hands unbuttoned his trousers and pulled everything, trunks included, down to his knees and Neville buried his face in the exposed crotch, mouthing around the base of the shaft, and licking hot, wet trails everywhere, like he couldn’t get enough. And finally,  _ finally _ , he was hovering over the main feature, and his eyes caught Theodore’s and there was a moment where time stopped.

Theodore looked at the man knelt before him. Kneeling for  _ him _ ! And thought he had never seen someone look more beautiful in his life.  Neville was shining! With life and vibrancy, and happiness.  His face was aglow with a deep arousal, and an even deeper affection and he looked like he was happier here, than he could be anywhere else in the world.  

Neville let out a soft sigh of anticipation, that brushed over the painfully stretched flesh before him, and then, between one moment and the next, his large, generous mouth was stretching over the head of Theodore’s cock, and he was moving down over that stiff flesh in an agonizingly tender way.  The all-consuming, wet heat of his tight channel, swallowed more and more of Theodore’s length until his eyes watered.  His soft tongue explored the length gently. And then when Theodore was seated all the way in, and the man in question’s thighs were quivering and body trembling not to give in to the urge to thrust, he  _ sucked _ .  

The most inhuman moan spilled out of the brunette’s mouth, and his hands flew into Neville’s hair and pleasure wracked his body.  And he’d been on edge all day, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long, but he wanted to stay in this perfect moment of bliss forever!

Neville’s mouth moved slickly over the tortured flesh, and one of the hands holding Theodore’s hips moved around until it found his ass and massaged the firm globe in his palm.

“Long—shit! Fuck it!— _ Neville _ ! You mother _ fucker _ !... Fuck, you’re so good… it’s so _ good _ … I can’t… I want”

He could feel the slide of lips over every sensitive part of his shaft, and Neville’s tongue was pressing up hard against the thick vein on the bottom in a way that made him see stars, and he surprised even himself with the filth that came pouring out of his mouth.

“You’re so fucking  _ dirty _ Neville… you want it… oh, I can see how fucking turned on you are! Give it to me, Neville… let me fuck that perfect mouth of yours… you’re driving me  _ crazy _ … I need to come so bad…”

And Neville, perfect,  _ wonderful _ Neville, drew off his cock for an agonizing moment. Long enough to say, “come for me, Theodore.” And then his mouth was wetly sliding down again, and his hand let go of Theodore’s other hip so that he could press both hands into the firm globes of the brunette’s ass.

Theodore lost himself in the feelings of pleasure as he rode out his high in Neville’s mouth, chasing the elusive end, and he barely managed out a stuttered, “need…” before he felt one thick, callused finger brush over his hole and it had him almost blacking out as he emptied himself into the blonde’s obliging mouth.  He was pretty sure he heard someone screaming and realized it was himself, as the sheer bliss overwhelmed him and he came in droves, his entire body wracked to pieces by the out of this world experience, until he slid bonelessly down the wall.

“Neville… shit… Neville… fuck…” 

When he was able to actually  _ see _ past the colored spots dancing in his vision, he saw Neville crouched in front of him.  Pure satisfaction was tugging at the corners of those swollen lips  _ that he had just been inside!  _  The thought pulled a curious twitch from his spent cock, which obviously hadn’t gotten the memo that he was completely and utterly wrung out.

He reached weakly for Neville’s collar and dragged him in for a searing kiss, tasting himself on Neville’s tongue as it licked inside his mouth. With his other hand, he reached down the broad man’s front, only to have it grabbed in a firm grip.

“Why—?” he started and was answered by a slow, leisurely,  _ sated _ smile and when he looked down he saw the wet stain on the front of Neville’s trousers. “Oh!” and then he was drawn into another mind-melting kiss.

Speaking roughly into his mouth, Neville asked, “Ready to go grab that dinner?”

“Only if you know a few mending and cleaning charms,” the smaller wizard answered, gesturing to his tattered robes. “I’m absolute shit at them.”

“I do, in fact. I wouldn’t let something as small as destroyed clothing get in the way of finally sitting you down for a proper meal.”

Theodore laughed breathlessly. “Sex before dinner? You rogue! Now help me up, you’ve turned me into pudding with that talented mouth!”

Neville laughed as he helped him to his feet. “We should probably try to get away from the ministry next time we do this. I’ll show you my place after the Three Broomsticks.”

Blood rushed loudly in his veins at the  _ very _ bold implication in Neville’s words and he nodded a little stupidly. 

When Neville pulled him in for one last, bruising kiss, and pulled away with a huge smile, he couldn’t help but smile back joyfully. “Sounds amazing,” Theodore said simply, and led the way to the lifts.


	5. Chapter 5

It was more than a little bit difficult to manage walking properly when Theodore felt like he’d just gotten his brains sucked out of his dick, but Neville’s thinly veiled promise of more kept him upright.  It didn’t help that he could literally  _ feel _ the taller man’s eyes boring holes in his ass as he walked.  If he happened to put a tad more sway into  his steps, that was of no one’s concern but his own!

They took the floo, one right after the other, to the ministry apparition site, located outside the main building, and then apparated to Hogsmeade without further delay. After touching down, they hadn’t walked more than a few steps together before Theodore felt a large palm slide over his own and then his slim fingers were enveloped in the work-worn hand of his counterpart. His neck moved so fast he heard it crack, and he stared at Neville in complete shock! But the only trace he could see that the other man even knew what he was doing was the smug smile playing around those full lips. 

He realized he was gaping at Neville and managed to close his mouth, but only barely.  He had veritable butterflies dancing in his stomach, his chest was falling unevenly, and there was a strange ringing in his ears, and all from the simple act of holding hands! 

But it wasn’t as simple as all that.  This was  _ Neville _ , the man he’d been making a complete fool of himself over for the past… was it only three days! … publicly holding his hand.  The gesture of possessiveness and comfort took his breath away.

“Are you okay?” Neville peered into his face with some concern, and Theodore wiped hastily at his watery eyes with his free hand.

“I’m fine. I’m just a bloody,  _ silly _ , sentimental fool.”

“We don’t have to eat here if you don’t want. I realize I didn’t really ask for your opinion regarding any of this,” Neville started rambling. “We can do something—”

“It’s not that.” Theodore interrupted, before the blonde could really get going. “It’s  _ this _ !” he said thickly, and held up their clasped hands. “I’m getting all emotional because I’ve never held hands before and it means a lot to me that you’re willing to… show what we have… to other people.”

Neville stopped dead and cupped his cheek gently in a rough palm. “I would  _ never _ hide you,” he promised solemnly. “What we have… it’s special. It would be— _ wrong _ , I guess is the right word—to keep it in the dark. I want to wear you like a precious gem, and show you off to  _ everyone _ ! Now… you’re going to have to stop looking so damn incredible—unless you  _ want _ me to lose my mind.”

“I can behave,” Theodore said slyly through his lashes, and then he chuckled when Neville’s face contorted hungrily and then resolutely turned away.

“No. I  _ will _ get something right… and besides that, I’m starving. Aren’t you?”

“Suppose so. This is nice, anyways,” and he indicated their clenched hands again.

The day was beautiful.  A rare, sunny, summer day, with all the scents and sounds that went with it. It felt nice to walk hand-in-hand with Neville, his pale skin soaking up the sunlight in a way that made him think he should probably go outside more often.

“What’s your house like,” he asked the blonde on a whim, mostly to steer the conversation away from his own embarrassment.

“It suits me well.  I didn’t care too much about the house itself, as I was  _ really _ after the property, but as it is, I got lucky.  It’s made of rock, so it stays pretty cool during the summer and heats up nice during the winter.” Neville smiled and it made Theodore smile too.  “The  _ real _ reason I moved there is because of the gardens though.  I have forty acres of walled in gardening space in front of the house and these three, huge, perfect greenhouses out back.  They’re all a little bit antiquated because they’ve been in the family so long, but plants don’t really mind if their planter is old or new, you know?”

“Makes sense,” Theodore nodded.

“I’ll show you later,” Neville says and sent him a look that was filled with heat and promises.  Theodore pulled at his collar when the temperature seemed to rise under the gaze.

They reached the door of the Three Broomsticks, and Neville pushed his hand firmly out of the way to open the door for him.

“I haven’t been here since Hogwarts,” Theodore said as they sat at a small table near the window. “It’s nostalgic.”

“Really? I come here with Harry and Ron all the time.  Sometimes Luna comes too, but it’s hard to get ahold of her these days, with all the travel she does for _The_ _Quibbler_. “

They ordered a couple a couple bottles of knotgrass mead, and, after sipping his, Theodore decided he doesn’t like it and ordered water instead.  When the waitress arrived with his water, he and Neville handed over their menus, along with their orders: Theodore, a beef wellington, and Neville, a cheese sandwich.

“What about you?” Neville asked. “What’s your house like?”

The brunette played with the lip of his glass, one finger sliding slowly over the moisture his lips left behind. “I don’t really know.  It’s just the manor. I’ve always lived there. I don’t think I really  _ like _ living there… But as a Nott, it’s my duty,” he said firmly. “I’m the last of the Notts, and we’ve always lived there. I’m trying to fix it up a little.  Parts of it are really falling apart, but the library has a section on repair spells that I’ve read through and I have been making some progress… only  _ now _ half of the study is fucking missing because some  _ asshole _ likes to destroy people’s homes!” he exploded.

“At least he didn’t destroy  _ you _ ,” Neville pointed out. “Harry told me that he’s never seen a spell like it! But apparently it  _ evaporates _ people, because they’ve discovered that both Malfoy men and three other known death eater affiliates have up and vanished! And Harry said the spell trace was at each crime scene.”

“How do you know so much about my case?” 

“Oh, that? Harry was already bursting to talk about it when I met up with him for a late lunch, and when I told him you were my boyfriend—” he deliberately ignored Theodore’s startled yelp, “—it was easy to get him to spill. Ron’s a bit too professional for that—probably why he got promoted so early, but Harry’s turned into a total open book ever since he started seeing that therapist.”

“You told one of your best friends we were  _ boyfriends _ ?” Theodore said disbelievingly. 

“Yeah. It doesn’t bother you, does it? Only I figure I  _ already _ want to be yours, and I figured you wouldn’t mind a little white lie. Oh stop staring at me like it’s your first time seeing Nearly Headless Nick! I kind of figured it was obvious how much I wanted you—seriously, shut your mouth—oh bloody hell… don’t you  _ want _ to be my boyfriend?”

Feeling extremely put on the spot, Theodore mumbled a barely intelligible, “well… I mean… Well, yes… ”

“Brilliant! I knew it!”

The waitress came by with their meals. “Anything else?” she asked with obvious stars in her eyes for Neville.  Theodore felt the slow burn of jealousy in the back of his throat! That was his  _ boyfriend _ she was looking at! His broad, muscled, totally through-the-roof-sexy boyfriend… he couldn’t really blame her, actually. Then he remembered that Neville was famous as well, by all rights.  He’d probably have to deal with things like this all the time!

“Everything’s perfect, thank you,” Neville said obliviously, having eyes only for the brunette across the table.  It did wonders to soothe his ruffled feathers, and Theodore smirked victoriously at the stunned waitress.  Perhaps he could get used to this…

“Can I introduce you to my friends on Friday then?” Neville asked, unexpectedly.

“What? You—You just do whatever you  _ want _ now, don’t you?” he asked instead of answering, his apprehension obvious.

“Mostly, yeah. That last year at Hogwarts really taught me how to not give a flying fuck! You take happiness where you can find it. I mean, I only had to see you once, and I wanted to know you better. That’s why I asked you for tea—”

“You sneaky bastard—”

Neville grinned, unrepentant, and the passion lurking in his hazel eyes was so hard to miss, that Theodore broke eye contact and began cutting up his pie to occupy his brain.

“So will you?” Neville insisted.

“They wouldn’t want to meet me,” Theodore said, glumly. “I might have been quiet in school, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t just as bigoted as the rest of them! I used to laugh when that mud—Granger girl got teased, right along with the rest of them.”

“Don’t be dense! They’re my friends. Besides, I’ve already told Harry about you and he seemed pretty cool with the idea.”

“He probably doesn’t even remember who I am.”

Neville made a thoughtful face, and took a bite of his sandwich. “...possibly.” But then he gave Theodore a look, which told him this was one thing the gryffindor was was  _ not _ going to let go of, and he slumped in his chair in defeat.

“Fine,” he grumbled. And then a thought struck him which had him looking up at Neville through hooded eyes, and growling in a low tone, “but I expect to be  _ fully compensated _ .”

Neville tensed where he sat, accidentally snapping the toothpick he’d just pulled out of the second half of his sandwich. Theodore calmly had a bite of his pie, and licked the tines of his fork as his mouth pulled away with the treat.  He had the extreme pleasure of watching Neville’s eyes blow wide with lust.

“Are you going to finish that?” He asked the gryffindor, pointing nonchalantly to Neville’s forgotten sandwich.

“I’m going to finish  _ you _ !” came the growled reply, which elicited a breathless laugh.

*

Neville was able to take exactly four minutes of Theodore toying with his fucking  _ meat pie _ ! And exactly how someone could make that look sexy, he couldn’t have said… until this very moment… when his balls were about to explode.  The little bitch had the audacity to  _ moan _ around his last bite, and Neville  _ knew _ the food here wasn’t that good! He’d eaten here often enough, after all.

They’d just had had some pretty mind blowing sex, not forty minutes ago, but his body didn’t seem to care, because he was hard as a rock under his robes. If he’d thought going through an entire day without relief was frustrating, sitting in front of the object of his desire was getting more and more impossible by the—

Did he spill water down his throat on purpose! 

The wet trail traveled down from the corner of the slytherin’s mouth, down the long, flawless expanse of his neck (he really should have taken some time to mark it up a bit earlier). And then he swallowed another gulp of water, and a fresh trail of water welled at his mouth and spilled  _ agonizingly _ slowly down to his collarbone, which was  _ just _ peaking out because—

Had he been too distracted to see Theodore unbutton the top two buttons of his  _ godforsaken _ robe? When had that fucking happened! Why was he even still wearing anything at all? This should be a crime! 

But Theodore had just set down his glass and was staring straight at Neville.  His mouth was hanging slightly open until he  _ sucked his lower lip into his mouth _ ! And Neville let his gaze travel up from shiny, red lips, to look into eyes that were completely… fucking… black…

The loud bang-clatter of Neville’s chair lurching backwards and toppling over when the large man stood up exceedingly fast, turned every eye in the restaurant their way, but Neville was beyond caring. He saw the smug look of victory flash across Theodore’s face and didn’t know whether to kiss the teasing bastard or punch him in his fucking too-sexy face.  He threw too many galleons on the table, yanked Theodore up by the collar and kissed him brutally, eating the moan straight out of his mouth.

Then, ignoring the stunned/shocked/reproachful faces of everyone in the place, he dragged the unprotesting man out the door, and without another step taken, apparated into the living room of his humble cottage. He was already ripping at clothing before they’d properly landed.

*

Theodore had no idea what he was doing.  He was horny, he knew that. And he was flirting, at least he thought he was.  But mostly he was going on instinct, and the predatory glint in Neville’s eyes, to help him along.  So he took slow bites of his beef wellington, and wished he’d ordered something sexier.

Toying around with his fork between his teeth and tongue seemed to be doing  _ something _ for the sex god sitting across from him, however, because the stare they were sharing was nothing short of eye fucking. It made his throat feel tight and dry and he nervously reached for his glass of water.  He hadn’t given away his nerves, until, to his utter mortification, he spilled some of the water down his chin like a common plebian! Quickly, his eyes flitted to Neville’s face and saw the large man follow the trail of the droplet like a man possessed.  His breathing was harsh and Theodore felt his pants tighten at the incredibly obvious reaction.  The second time he took a sip of water he spilled some on purpose and without betraying his intentions, slowly reached up to unbutton the top of his robe.  His hand fell back into his lap as the water spilled onto his chest and he watched greedily as Neville looked back up into his face.  To stifle the whine he already  _ knew _ he was going to make when they locked eyes again, he sucked his lower lip into his mouth. 

And then it happened. Neville’s gaze hovered on his lips and then continued its journey up his face until lust met lust and they caught, and captured, their passion in the air between them.

He heard the chair scraped abruptly back, and then was all the warning he had before Neville’s strong hand gripped his collar and yanked him up so they could kiss. Intense, and fervent, their lips smashed together in a cry of need, and Theodore felt his legs give out from under him.  All too happily, he let himself get dragged away and apparated, his blood singing under his skin, and his breath coming too-fast, too-short!

_ Shit, _ it was overwhelming! He couldn’t think, could barely hear past the roar in his ears and the heat on his skin.  Trails of burning desire, left in the wake of Neville’s large, beautiful hands that were so quickly divesting him of clothing.

“Please, Neville,” he panted, arching obscenely into the taller man.

“You needy little fuck,” came the growled reply. “What do you want?”

He shivered as even more shin was exposed and roughened as the durable hands followed the path of his exposure.

“Need to taste you,” he whispered heatedly and reached up and licked a long stripe up the thick neck. Neville’s hands clenched, one on his ass, the other on his ribs, hard enough to leave bruises. He licked again, glorying in the salty-sweet tang of warm skin. “Want to have you… like you did me earlier… I need to know what it’s like… find out for myself… learn you…”

“Fuck…” Neville groaned and pushed him down by the shoulders until he was kneeling between those thick thighs.  He pressed his cheek into fabric around the prominent bulge. “...Take it, you needy little bitch… shit, you’re so gorgeous… you look like sin…”

Neville unbuttoned his pants and Theodore helped move them down his hips until he could pull out the heavy cock inside. It hung in Theodore’s face, and he eyed it, a tad bit apprehensive at the sheer  _ size _ , but curiosity and pure want decided for him.

“Tell me if I do it wrong.”

“Wait, you haven’t—hnng!”

He licked at the silky flesh lying in his mouth, testing out the taste, and the ridges.  It felt harder, in his mouth, than it did when he held his own erection in his hand.  The velvet skin conspicuously soft over the hardness underneath, and he sucked gently and tongued the tip as he worked up the courage to allow more into his mouth.  It didn’t take long; Neville’s generous moan of approval encouraged him into letting the cock settle a few inches deeper and he began to move his head up and down, while keeping up that hollow suction.

“Theo—have you—have you ever…”

He hummed, and the corners of his lips tried to twitch into a smile around the thick cock between them at Neville’s answering breathless litany of, “fuck, oh fuck, fuck, Theo… shit…”

Neville grabbed his hair and jerked his hips forward, causing Theodore to splutter a little, and spit spilled down his chin.  But then, the glorious thick cock was drawing out of his mouth, and the hands in his hair kept him from following its path, until with a filthy  _ pop _ it slid all the way out.  He was pulled up, until he was panting into Neville’s face and they kissed again, wet and wanton, with their moans intermingling in the slick space between their lips.

Finally, Neville pushed him back until he could look into his face, and said seriously, “is this your first time?”

The anger the question elicited was unexpected, but he rode it on the tidal wave of his lust. “ _ Why _ ? You think because I’m a  _ virgin _ I need a white bed and rose petals on the floor?  _ Oh _ , touch me gently, Neville, I might break! I’m just a delicate fucking little flower! You think I would be here if I didn’t want this exactly how it is?” and he accentuated his question with a debauched roll of his hips, pressing his entire body as close to Neville’s as he could.  “I’m not a motherfucking  _ girl _ Neville! I liked it when you sucked me, and I sure as hell liked sucking you… but you know what I would like even better? I’d like it… if you broke in this little… virgin… ass of mine… Because I’m dying to feel that monster prick of yours split me fucking wide open.”

With each word, he ground a little more helplessly into the answering hardness of Neville’s unclothed erection.  The haze of lust and the scent of sex assaulted his senses until he couldn’t form his sentences any more and the only sounds that left his mouth were a litany of curses and breathless panting. But he felt how his words had affected Neville, saw as the man heard the truth and the blatant  _ need _ behind the sentences.  

Neville stopped holding back and his mouth closed in on the pulse in Theodore’s neck.  He sucked the milky white flesh of the smaller wizard’s neck until Theodore was writhing helplessly against him and his large hands made short work of the wizards remaining clothing until naked flesh met naked flesh. They pressed together, melded together, until one heat stoked the other’s.

Theodore didn’t even realize until a door behind him burst open with force, that Neville had been maneuvering them the entire time toward the bedroom. And in the next instant he was laid flat on the mattress, with Neville looming over him, whispering praises between kisses to his oversensitive flesh. 

He could feel his own, chaotic magic being molded and tamed by the raging calm of Neville’s own magic. The dance of power sparking between the bodies of the intertwined wizards heightened the pleasure.

He was at the mercy of his pleasure, unencumbered by embarrassment or discomposure.  He whimpered in pleasure at Neville’s grasping touch. He almost screamed when a wet finger brushed over and then firmly pressed against his entrance.  His hands grabbed onto Neville’s shoulders and he sobbed out broken pleas for more until the finger broached the entrance, and pushed inside, the oil making the slide happen too quickly, but not fast enough. Because now that he’d had one part of the blonde god inside of him, he wanted it  _ all _ .

“Next time…”Neville panted against his sweat flecked skin, “I’m setting up mirrors everywhere… so you can see… your perfect—divine—face… as I make you come undone under me… I’m going to wreck you so slowly you won’t even know it’s happening until it’s too late…” Neville slipped in a second finger  and licked the vibrations in Theodore’s throat as he moaned. “Ruin you for everyone… because I’m going to be your first… and, by Merlin… I’m going to be your  _ last _ !”

The third finger was added carefully, but it still burned.  The heat from the stretch traveled his entire body and he arched and cried out as fire filled his lungs and flickered on his skin.

“ _ Neville _ ! Nev… please! I need it… so hot… I need it!”

His hole ached when the fingers withdrew and he writhed against the sheets until a strong hand pushed his hip down and he felt something large and  _ blunt _ nudge up against him and press firmly until it eased in. Slowly, so slowly. The uncompromising pressure stopped when Neville was only halfway in and Theodore breathed harsh gulps of air, clinging to the muscles on Neville’s forearms like a lifeline. 

“Breathe, Theo… just breathe. You’re doing so good. You’re so good for me… just relax.  _ That’s it _ … Fuck, Theo… there you go… shit, you feel so fucking incredible… I don’t want to hurt you—”

“ _ Move _ ! Damn you!... please, for the love of—Angh!...  _ yes _ … so… Nev... “

The push and pull of his muscles, giving in and gripping tight to the shaft of flesh moving inside of him so intimately, was something he had never known.  The pleasure was like a white hot wave that consumed everything but the two of them, joined to each other… feeling the life pulse between them with every push of hips, every stuttered curse and drawn out moan. The world condensed until it was just them, and nothing else could matter.  And it was slow, so slow and agonising… too slow.

Their chests slid together on the beads of sweat that dampened their skin. Neville sought out his mouth, and sucked on his tongue until he saw stars.  He closed his eyes for some moments and begged shamelessly, begged for  _ faster! Faster! Please! _ Against the unyielding rocking of Neville’s body. Overwhelmed entirely by the buck of their bodies as he rolled his hips up to meet every slow thrust of Neville’s hips and then he let out a scream that shook the walls of the house. 

“Again!  _ Again _ !  _ Again! Again!” _  Theodore babbled, almost incoherent, and Neville complied with a smirk of self-satisfaction and finally,  _ finally,  _ sped up the pace.

Each thrust of his hips had Neville hitting that perfect spot inside of him, and it wasn’t long until the thrusts turned hard and fast, brutal and perfect.

“I want it!” he keened. “Neville, yes!”

“Such a slut for it…” Neville whispered directly into his ear.

“Yes.”

“You just want me to  _ break _ this gorgeous little body of yours…”

“I won’t break…”

“Take it then! You feel incredible…”

“I’m so close Neville… please…”

“What do you want?”

“Touch me… please touch me…”

It only took a few pumps into the rough palm, timed with the pounding he was receiving at the end of Neville’s enormous cock, before he was coming endlessly, mouthing Neville’s name in silent prayer because he couldn’t speak and couldn’t scream while he was trapped in his body with pleasure wracking through his frame. Warm liquid pulsed onto him over Neville’s hand, onto his stomach, even onto Neville’s chest.  The larger wizard kept pushing into his oversensitive body, spurts of come still streaming between their stomachs until Theodore was almost catatonic underneath him and completely wrung out.  Only then, did Neville give in with a shout of Theodore’s name, flooding the tight channel with warmth that made the listless man whimper in bliss.

Neville collapsed on top of him and weakly gathered up the drained man into his arms, whispering endearments into soft, brown hair.

“...perfect, Neville…” Theodore finally whispered. “That was perfect…”

They clung to each other in the ruined bed, elated, euphoric, terrified, and blissfully happy.

Theodore’s last thought, as he heard Neville mutter a couple cleaning charms and draw a pullover across their intertwined forms, was that he was glad it was friday. Because he was pretty sure he wasn’t even going to be able to  _ move _ in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was, by far, the hardest chapter to write so far. Don't worry though, I can't give this story up until my characters are fully satisfied :) Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

“So, before  _ I _ got ahold of you… what sort of experience  _ did _ you have?”

“Ugh. You’re such a  _ gryffindor _ ! Learn a little tact, why don’t you! You might as well just outright demand my sexual history.”

“Right. Sorry, I suppose it was a little rude.”

“You  _ are _ a bit boorish, sometimes. But I’ll tell you what little there is to know.”

Theodore shuffled into a more comfortable position, relaxing into Neville’s broad chest. His fingers played idly with the light smattering of hair spread across those  _ divine _ muscles.

“It’s a fairly pathetic sexual past, for me. I kissed a few girls and boys during truth or dare in the slytherin common room. And I was even fondled once, during the same game, but I’ve never done anything really sexual before you. I just—I guess I’m just a bit of a sap about this sort of thing. It’s not like I _planned_ on being a virgin at twenty, but if I did have sex, I at least wanted the it to mean something. At Hogwarts, I was simply never attracted to anyone. And after Hogwarts, I was such a recluse, that I never even _met_ with anyone outside my job! So…yeah, that was my first blowjob, both giving _and_ receiving.” He pressed a close-mouthed kiss to that warm chest. “And that was my first time having sex.”

Neville’s arm, tightened its hold on him and the large man lifted his head up to press a kiss into Theodore’s soft, brown hair.

“I’m ridiculously pleased to be your first,” Neville said, a bit gloatingly. “I almost feel bad, for being so pleased…”

“Idiot.”

“You don’t really act like a virgin though.”

“I know what I want.”

“What do you want?”

“You.”

*

They’d woken up lazily, and not even a full night’s sleep had diminished the after sex glow.  Everything was shrouded in a sort of languid happiness, and Neville had pulled Theodore closer to him while the brunette had pressed sleepy, feel-good kisses onto his chest. They were still naked, and while Neville was sure it would turn lustful in time, the press of skin on skin was, for now, just a comfort. 

Everything was relaxed and beautiful.  The lithe man pressed so closely into his side was perfection. Even the sun spilling through the cottage window added something incorporeal to the moment, and dust motes floated in the air above the glowing skin of the two lovers, bathed in morning light.

It was the happiest Neville had ever been in his life. His heart thudded slowly in his chest, full of the emotion that had ripped almost painfully through him the first moment he set eyes on the wizard at his side. He couldn’t say it yet. He didn’t want to scare the smaller wizard away, and he couldn’t lose this… because he would be losing everything worth having. He would protect this amazing, wonderful, indefinable thing with everything he possessed, and someday the wizard by his side would be his completely. 

*

He loved him! Oh,  _ merlin _ , how he loved him. Theodore had had an inkling, right from the start. He’d been so eager to please, so eager to do and say  _ anything _ that would mean making Neville his. But until now, he hadn’t named the feeling and it crashed through him with every beat of his heart.  _ Love _ ! Love! Love! Love! He loved him! It was so good to be next to him and feel no expectations and no feeling but this overwhelming love. 

He couldn’t say it out loud yet. It was much too frightening a though. But he would say it over and over in his head until he grew tired of it, which would be… never.  _ I love him. I love him. I love him.  _

He could hear Neville’s own thudding heartbeat under his ear and he wanted to  _ own  _ that heart. And when Neville started talking he listened to the low, soothing timber of the voice, and answered his questions. He was all too happy to answer the last question, the one that echoed the feelings in his heart.

_ What did he want?  _

He wanted to wake up like this every morning for the rest of his life.  He wanted every moment to be filled with the smell of fresh outdoors: the smell that clung to Neville. He wanted every inch of that perfectly sculpted body to belong to  _ him  _  and only him! And he wanted to be possessed and owned in turn. He wanted a life together, with a shared home, where every day was another day with the one he loved. 

What a perfectly absurd question, Neville.  The answer is so obvious it sings in his veins and is in the very air he breathes.

“You.”

They spent the entire morning in this way, wrapped in each other’s embrace, and talking about everything and nothing. They avoided talking of their childhoods, but talked about Hogwarts:

“Happiest day of my life, when my O.W.L.s came back, saying I’d failed potions.”

And they talked about the war:

“In the end it was a blessing; my father’s belief in how pathetic I was is the only thing that kept me from receiving the dark mark. Probably the only reason I’m not in Azkaban.”

And they talked about their lives:

“It’s the best! I end up wearing clothes Luna makes for me a lot, so not only am I the herbology professor, but I’m the  _ wacky _ herbology professor.”

“We  _ literally _ just developed a structured equation to explain—well, I can’t actually tell you… but suffice it to say, it’s  _ groundbreaking _ !”

They laughed, and they kissed… and eventually they made love again as the day drew more towards noon. And then their stomachs protested, so they pulled on the odds and ends of their clothing. For Theodore, this was socks and boxers and his undershirt. Neville just pulled on a pair of sweatpants. And they traipsed downstairs to Neville’s kitchen. 

“What are you making me?” Theodore asked, from where he lounged decadently on one of the dining chairs. Neville wasn’t sure how he was pulling it off so well, because he looked like a fucking spoilt  _ prince _ with the tilt of his chin and his delicately dangling feet.

“Sandwiches,” he answered. “You like cheese with your meat?”

“Yes, thank you. And sandwiches, Neville? Really? I thought you were a bachelor.”

“I  _ am  _ a bachelor. That’s why I only know how to make sandwiches.”

Theodore laughed at the slightly affronted look on the gryffindor’s face. That didn’t stop him from ribbing the blonde a little harder, though. “No, no, no.  _ Married _ men know how to make sandwiches, because their  _ wives _ make all the real food—”

“That’s sexist.”

“—And bachelor's know how to make awesome food, because we get hungry and  _ bored _ !”

Neville stared at him in disbelief for the span of a moment, the butter knife dripping onto the counter. “ _ You _ can cook?”

“Of course I can cook,” Theodore sniffed haughtily.

“I think you’re the only bachelor I’ve met that can cook,” Neville said, turning back to his sandwiches.

“I’m pretty sure cooking skills are bachelor one-oh-one.”

“ _ I’m _ pretty sure you’re cooking from now on,” Neville said, and placed the plate of  _ superb _ and  _ way better than any sandwich you’ve ever tasted _ , sandwiches down between them.

Feeling the warm glow Neville’s words elicited fill his body, Theodore quickly bit into the meat-and-cheese filled bread to hide his dopey smile.

It was actually pretty good, and he’d already eaten three of them by the time they heard the tell-tale  _ tap _ of an owl at the window.

Neville stood up to get it, and afforded Theodore a chance to again admire the way the taller man moved, all precision and power. The way the muscles in his legs and ass stretched the fabric of his sweatpants wasn’t bad either. Not bad at  _ all _ .

Neville gave the owl the meat from the sandwich he was still holding, and turned back around, already tearing open the seal. He scanned the contents for a moment before looking up at Theodore abruptly.

“I think I’d better read this aloud, seeing as it’s  _ entirely _ about you! Ron sounds like he’s about to have a cardiac. Ahem,

‘ _ Neville, _

_ I hope to merlin that git is with you because I’m about to lose my bloody mind! I’ve sent  _ ten  _ owls after him! TEN! And they keep on coming back. Anyway, Harry told me you’re his boyfriend and—you know I’m talking about Theodore Nott, right?—anyways, I was hoping he’s with you because this weekend  _ bloody  _ blows, and we have five more missing persons cases and they all had the magical signature… as well as that stupid! Fucking! Unknown! Obliterate everything! Spell residue—another fucking owl just came back!— _

_ Write me back right now, damnit! And tell me that he’s with you because I  _ need _ some good news, and he seemed like an alright bloke… for a slytherin anyways. _

_ Ron _

_ P.S. Just ignore that last line. I’m running on a twenty minute nap and a cauldron of coffee and I’m clearly a little bit deranged right now.’  _ “

Theodore looked stunned in the aftermath of the coarse letter. “He does  _ not _ sound like that in person.”

“Poor Ron,” Neville said sadly. “Come on then, we’d best firecall him so he knows you’re still safe. He’d take it  _ very  _ personally if you died while under his watch, after all.”

Still half-dressed they walked over to Neville’s fireplace where the blonde got out his tin off floo powder and threw some in the flames. He then knelt down on the carpet and stuck his head into the green flames, affording Theodore a  _ really _ nice view of the muscled man’s taught ass and legs, and, oh Salazar, that broad, naked back that seemed to stretch endlessly… for pity’s sake! He wasn’t raised a mudblood! He should have better control of his thoughts… and his—bodily responses...

“Yeah, can you get me Senior Auror Weasley, please.”

…

“I know he’s busy, I’m firecalling about his victim.”

Theodore scowled at Neville’s sublime ass. He didn’t see any victims here. He saw a dashing escape artist!

“Thank you. Yes, I’ll wait.”

Feeling mischievous, Theodore ran one thin finger down the length of Neville’s spine, watching avidly as goosebumps chased his finger’s wake. It also had the effect of making Neville’s entire body tense. Those muscles really were ridiculous. He wanted to map them with his tongue. Instead, he ran his finger back up the spine.

“Hey, Ron,” Neville’s voice spoke calmly into the flames. And that just  _ wouldn’t  _ do!

“Yeah, he’s right he _ re! _ ” Neville’s voice cracked a bit as Theodore trailed his fingers under the band of the sweatpants, with a fleeting touch along his crack.

“Didn’t mean to— _ mph _ —worry you… Of course you can. Just a sec.”

Neville pulled his head out of the fireplace quickly, dislodging Theodore from where he was sucking lovebites onto the sensitive skin on Neville’s hips. He fell back with a quiet thump, but was unable to protest before being yanked up into Neville’s kiss.

“You little fucker,” Neville muttered against his mouth. “Don’t think you’re getting away with this just because you need to talk to Ron.”

And with that, he was being manhandled down into the fireplace. He stuck his head into the flames and at the same moment Weasley’s haggard face burst into view, he felt his boxers being tugged down and a large, rough hand wrapped around his half-hard cock.

Shit.  _ Shitshitshit! _ Shit! He should have known better.

“Thank  _ fuck _ you’re still okay!” Weasley greeted him, having obviously lost his iron composure at some point this morning. Neville’s hand continued to work him just this side of too hard.

“ _ Yeah!  _ All good!” he managed to get out, between the sensation of a thumb brushing over his wet slit.

“Not a single owl! Not a single one could find you! What’s up with that?”

“Erm… paternal, uh, curse.” 

“Great.” Weasley said, distracted already. “Just… great.  _ Whatever _ . I need you to stay safe,  _ okay _ ? You’re the only wizard we know who’s managed to escape avoid this whack job’s curse. So… yeah, stay safe, and don’t do anything stupid! Stay with Neville, for my sake. That guy’s fucking  _ ace _ at protecting people.”

Theodore couldn’t bother to be rankled over his, “needs protection” status. Not with Neville’s other hand pressing lightly over his entrance through the thin cotton of his boxers.

“Will do!” he all but gasped into the fireplace, earning a momentary look of perplexity from Weasley, before the redhead made a final, highly uncivil, hand-flap at him, and brusquely walked away.

He nearly brained himself on the mantle, he backed out of the flames so fast. But when he attempted to throw himself at Neville, in order to rut himself to orgasm, the blonde’s hands instantly withdrew and he began to walk away.

“What are you doing?” Theodore asked stupidly. He could be excused, seeing as his brain was currently residing somewhere in the tip of his penis.

“I’ve got some plants that need to be hand-watered every day, otherwise they’ll get cranky,” the tall man threw over his shoulder before walking back up the stairs to the bedroom. As if that sentence made  _ any _ sense. 

Didn’t he realize there was a desperate young man with a cock just shy of exploding standing in his living room.

“You can’t just  _ leave _ me like this!” Theodore whined, trailing after Neville, who was already changing into outside clothes.

It appeared he could. And he did.  For the next two hours, Neville walked around, puttering with his plants, while an unsatisfied and twitchy Theodore shadowed his every move. Theodore whined. He pouted. He even begged. But nothing seemed to faze the evil tease. 

“Fuck this!” Theodore cried finally in desperation and a no small bit of pain, storming inside and into Neville’s bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

He collapsed down onto Neville’s bed, which was still in ruins from their earlier activities, and shoved his boxers down, taking his achingly hard length in hard. The first touch had him biting his lip and thrusting almost viciously into his hand.  He was too oversensitive… too on edge.  Neville had looked so soft and sexy. The way he tended to his plants made those large hands look delicate in their tasks and the look of concentration on his face made him even handsomer! It was completely unbearable that the heartless bastard had left him in such a state. He cried out in ecstasy, pumping furiously into the tight funnel of his fist…

And the door burst open with a bang, a livid-looking Neville framed in the doorway.  The large, muscled man was on the bed in a flash, legs straddling Theodore’s hips and hands ripping Theodore’s wrists up above his head.

“Neville! Neville please… you can’t—”

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want,” Neville growled lowly into his ear. “You think you can come in here and  _ touch  _ yourself when you’re  _ mine _ ?”

“Please…”

“If anyone’s going to make you come it’s going to be  _ me _ !”

“ _ Yes _ … Neville, please touch me! I’m so close!”

“You shut your pretty fucking mouth,” Neville said into his ear, and then still holding Theodore’s wrists in one hand, he brought the other hand down between their bodies. Theodore arched up, yearning into the touch, but Neville didn’t touch him. Instead, he heard the sound of a zipper being pulled down. And when he looked down the length of their bodies, he almost gagged on his own want at seeing the large purple head of Neville’s erection coming into view. The body hovering so tantalizingly above him was just… it was just perfection.  He didn’t want to analyse how lucky he felt for having this beautiful man come so suddenly into his life. It was too unreal. All of this was so unreal.

He felt the sudden weight as Neville rolled his hips down and he felt their hard lengths slide against each other, silk-soft skin touching and sliding and…

It was  _ so  _ real…

He arched up, shattered breath stuttering raggedly in his throat and his body fully on display, legs spread wantonly, as he offered himself to the divine being that took him by the mouth and devoured each sound drawn forth from his tensed body.

One of those rough hands grabbed Theodore’s ass and the hand was wet and he a second to think, ‘ _ how? _ ’ before a blunt finger pushed relentlessly into him. Garbled words flowed off his tongue without thought.

“Nev…  _ Neville… _ Fuck… Fuck me, you maniac! Can’t believe you kept me on edge this—Ah!—long!... You’re a motherfucking…  _ tease _ ! You know I need you…  _ please,  _ Neville!”

Without warning, two more digits were pressed inside, leading him closer and closer to the edge with every quick shove. It was close to pain, but the intense burn was just that…  _ intense _ , and it had his body feeling like it was on fire with the waves of unfiltered lust washing over him.

“You beg like a slut, Theo… I never have to wonder what you want… because every dirty thought you have comes straight out of your mouth… I barely have to touch you, do I? You’re about an inch away from coming… but not yet, sweetheart…”

“ _ Nev _ —”

“I know… shh… You don’t  _ really _ want to come now, do you? You want to come on my cock…”

“ _ Please _ —”

The fingers withdrew without warning, but in the next instant they were replaced with the sticky head of Neville’s cock, lining up… pushing in slowly. It was agonizing! The measured press of that thick, hot length had Theodore writhing under his lover, trying to impale himself further, trying to rut into the hard stomach… anything… just desperate for some friction.

But Neville persisted with his torturous pace until he was fully sheathed inside the smaller wizard.

“ _ Please,  _ Neville. Please…  _ Move _ !”

In the space of a breath, what had been a symphony of held back passion and restraint stretched like a wire, became a maelstrom of movement. Neville drew back and pounded back in, his hips moving like a jackhammer, as he held his brunette lover down and allowed the shapely legs to wrap around him.  At the first savage thrust, Theodore’s eyes had flown wide and his mouth opened in a scream of pleasure. He knew it wouldn’t last… couldn’t last with how on edge he’d been for so long… but he  _ never  _ wanted this forceful fucking to end.

Neville rode him like a man possessed, chasing his own completion in the beautiful man wrapped around him. The drag of those inner walls against him was undoing him. He wanted to push this longer, but he knew both of them were already in the downward spiral.

“Come, Theo… need to feel you…”

The slytherin's back arched like a bow and his arms tensed where Neville still held them high above his head. His cock pulsed and he came with a roar, painting the hard lines of their stomachs with a sticky warmth, and clenching down on Neville who added his own shout of, “Theo!” to their climax. The slick warmth that spilled inside him caused his own cock to give a feeble twitch and then with a lewd sound, Neville’s cock slipped out of his body. 

The large wizard collapsed to the side and pulled Theodore into his arms, sighing happily into sweat-damp skin.

“You’re going to kill me one day, Neville,” Theodore moaned feebly. “That cock! That beautiful, perfect… extension of your incredible anatomy!”

“Shut it, you flatterer,” Neville muttered lightly.

“I’m not kidding… you’re one of a kind! I’m keeping you!”

And Neville couldn’t help the spread of warmth that filled his chest at the words.

They rested in the quiet and bliss for a few minutes, until the come began to get tacky and then they ended up in the shower together.  They exchanged loving, sloppy kisses through the water and soaped each other leisurely. 

*

It was the best day Neville could remember having in a long while.

*


	7. Chapter 7

Sunday morning, once again, found Theodore waking up in the arms of one Neville Longbottom.  So he’d spent an entire two nights and a day happily ensconced in his boyfriend’s house! What of it? He’d never felt happier in his life, he was sure of that! Even the dark, unknown threat targeting him had been scorched away under the brilliant happiness that filled his mind.  Every second since Friday had been a continuous haze of bliss… and Theodore wondered if this was what honeymoons felt like, and that got him thinking about weddings. Which eventually led to him daydreaming about proposing to Neville with every extravagance he could conceive of.

He would have happily continued to daydream, were it not for a sharp, impatient tapping on the window. He shoved Neville a little, but the brute of a man refused to budge, muttering sleepily, “go let the ruddy bird in yourself, Theo.”

Loathe to leave the delightful warmth of Neville’s strong arms—but with the tapping becoming as annoying as only an owl could make it—he got up to retrieve the letter.

The owl was a shrewd, skinny sort of thing, that snapped viciously at him as if in reproach for letting it sit at the window so long. It was the addressee which really surprised him, though.

_ Nott, Theodore _

_ Longbottom Garden Cottage _

_ North Yorkshire _

How anyone had managed to even send Theodore a letter was beyond his comprehension.  The curse placed on Mr. Nott, senior, had transferred to the rest of the living family. It was placed upon many death eaters by the Dark Lord himself, in order to help them evade capture by the aurors of the Order of the Phoenix. The curse  _ should _ have prevented any owl from locating him by name alone. Which meant that the sender had to have known  _ exactly _ where he was before sending the letter.

He tore open the letter and skimmed to the bottom for the closer:

_ All due respect, _

_ Mrs. Faye Pucey _

The wardsetter Weasley had recommended! Theodore had assumed she wouldn’t contact him after he’d received no reply to the letter he had sent on Thursday. He had given several locations the warder could direct her letters to, but apparently Mrs. Pucey did things in style. He was honestly a little scared of her abilities, but was even more eager for her to ward his house—perhaps even because of the fear she evoked!

Going back to the top of the letter, he quickly read through the contents. There wasn’t much to read:

_ Mr. Nott, _

_ You’re late mother was a beloved niece of mine. Which by extension, makes you family, and never let it be said that the Puceys do not look out for their family! It took me some time to locate you (nifty little curse you’ve got there) but I’m available to ward the house today. I’ll be there at 11:00am. No monetary compensation will be needed, just access to your blood and magical resonance—in other words, your presence is requested.  _

_ All due respect, _

_ Mrs. Faye Pucey _

Very scary, Theodore decided. He set the letter down on the windowsill and cast a quick  _ tempus _ , cursing artlessly when he saw where the time had gone.

“Neville, wake up for a moment!”

“I’m awake,” Neville mumbled.

“Sure you are,” came the disbelieving reply. “Listen, I’ve got to go. Faye Pucey is going to be at the manor in less than twenty minutes, and I need to be there.”

There was a  _ whump _ as Neville tried to launch out of bed too fast and ended up on the floor, tangled in the sheets. He looked  _ insanely _ sexy to Theodore’s eyes, all naked flesh peeking out of white linen. That didn’t stop him from giggling at Neville’s abrupt clumsiness, and then covering his mouth with mortification. Notts don’t giggle!

Neville was certainly not asleep any more!

“You can’t go there by yourself!” he protested, wrenching the sheets away and revealing more and more smooth skin and strong muscles.

“I can—”

“There’s some fucking psycho after you! Don’t be a fool!”

“Don’t call me a fool.  _ Obviously _ , I need to be there while she sets the wards.”

“What’s  _ obvious _ ,” Neville stressed, “is that I’m going with you.”

“I’m perfectly able to take care of myself,” Theodore sniffed, ignoring the way Neville’s protective attitude had warmth pooling in his chest.

“Fucking. Psycho. Killer.” Neville stated while pulling on whatever was closest. He ended up in a positively garish yellow shirt embroidered with what looked like… were those  _ house elves in hula skirts _ ? It was a sign of how completely far gone Theodore was that he thought it made the Gryffindor look cute.

“ _ Fine _ ,” he sighed, secretly pleased.

“After me, then,” the hardheaded Gryffindor said, pompously leading the way to the floo. 

“My fireplace is rather nonexistent at the moment, Neville,” the brunette reminded him snarkily.

“Right. Apparate us then!”

Theodore took the warm, callused hand in his. “Oh,  _ mighty _ Neville, your wish is my command!”

After apparating straight into his bedroom, Theodore took the time before Mrs. Pucey arrived to put on a change of clothes. Seeing as the garments he was wearing had gone through three days of wear and cleaning charms, two sex-fueled rendings from his body, and the subsequent repair charms that followed, he figured it was time to put on some fresh attire. 

Neville followed closely on his heels all the way to his room and then proceeded to ogle him shamelessly while he stripped, before putting on new boxers, socks, trousers, and robes. He  _ might _ have bent over a little further than necessary while opening the underwear drawer… but if Neville was going to stare, he deserved any teasing he received.

When he turned to walk back out the door, Neville pulled him into a gasp inducing kiss. The taller man was quick to plunge his tongue past those silk-soft lips and into the hot, wet cavern of Theodore’s mouth. Rough hands held the smaller man close, while their lips mashed together wetly. The low moan that tore itself out of Neville’s mouth brought Theodore to his senses and he quickly stepped away from Neville’s roaming hands.

“I’m not going to meet Faye Pucey with a bloody  _ hard-on _ , Neville!”

“Then stop being so sexy,” Neville murmured, looking at him through lowered eyelids. 

Before the seductive maniac could make another grab for him however, Theodore slipped through the door and made his way to the front of the manor.

“I’ve never seen the point of all these intricate little details,” Neville informed him when he’d caught up in the hallway. “The place I grew up with Gran had a lot of rooms like this,” he pointed vaguely at the crown molding and detailed candelabras, “and it always seemed like their main purpose was to catch dust.”

“I assure you, that’s all they’re good for,” Theodore said with a small smile. Truth be told, he wasn’t feeling so well any more. It had taken him a few steps away from his room for that damnable twitching to come back, and even with Neville’s solid presence by his side, the hairs on the back of his neck were lifted.

He glanced behind warily, and hurried his pace to the front door.

Neville was still peering around, taking in the dark, thick carpet, and the (also-dark, because everything in the house was a creepy, gothic style) paneled walls and tiled ceiling. Therefore, he missed when Theodore jumped about a foot in the air at the sharp  _ rap _ of the door-knocker.

Shuddering at the aftereffects of the scare to his system, the Slytherin pulled the door open to the sight of a very petite old witch, dressed all in grey pinstriped robes. Her grey wizard’s hat was pulled low over her face, but when the door opened, she looked up into their faces and gave a scowl that cowed them both.

“Mrs. Faye Pucey,” she introduced herself.

“Theodore Nott, and this is—”

“Where’s your common sense, boy?” she snapped, apparently done with niceties, shoving past with a neat elbow to Theodore’s stomach. He wheezed, and his companion’s eyes grew wide in alarm while big hands reached out to steady him. The witch took no notice of the young men she left in her wake. Once inside the foyer, she withdrew a short, thin wand and started tracing intricate designs in the air, never once ceasing her diatribe.

“My beautiful niece is no doubt rolling over in her grave! You, her only son, left the home  _ so _ open to attack that you nearly  _ lost your life _ because of it! Not to mention the possibly irreparable damage to the last standing homestead of the Nott line!  _ Not to mention _ the probable death of the Nott line! You do realize your duty, correct?”

Theodore felt an uncomfortable squirming in his stomach at the reminder that he was expected to produce an heir. A rather difficult feat to accomplish when he was bent as horseshoe  and currently head over heals  _ in love _ with the man standing steadily beside him.

Thankfully, it seemed the old witch didn’t expect an answer.

“With so much pure blood already spilt during the war, and the other half locked in Azkaban for following a madman in his pursuit of power… You’d think the remaining purebloods would be a little more  _ careful! _ ”

Both wizards flinched at Pucey’s scornful tone, and she caught the reaction out of the corner of her eye. Faye Pucey turned to face Theodore fully, ceasing her wand movements in favor of crossing both arms over her chest. 

“No need to be alarmed, Mr. Nott. I won’t apologize for my little rant, but when you get to be my age, you’ll find that you have little patience for the  _ stupidity _ of others. Now, I’m here because I care about you, Mr. Nott. I care about your blood, and I care about your relation to my family. By the time I’m done here, you’ll have one of the most fortified homes in all of Scotland!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Pucey,” he managed to choke out.

“Don’t think of it.” And coming from the intimidating little witch, it was more of a command than anything else.

She had them both sit while she walked around the house, but sitting did little for Theodore’s nerved, which had returned full-force. He sat close to Neville, their thighs pressed together. It should have been a calming, nice sort of moment, but he was high strung and nervous. He picked at his fingernails and glanced around the room periodically until Neville took both hands in his.

“What’s the matter, Theodore?” he asked gently.

The slight wizard ran the pad of his thumb back and forth over Neville’s palm edgily.

“I’m not… I’m not sure. I just feel a bit…  _ watched,  _ I guess. It’s the same feeling that made me apparate… the last time I was here—when that curse almost got me.”

“You think he’s here somewhere?” Neville asked worriedly. He withdrew his wand and muttered, “ _ homenum revelio _ .” The presence of the quick-marching old witch was revealed marching around upstairs.

“No one else in the house but Mrs. Pucey,” Neville said soothingly, and pulled the blue eyed man closer.

“Okay… Good! Although, it may be that there’s someone out on the grounds.” Theodore jerkily looked out the window.  “At any rate… I can feel the foundation for the wards Pucey is laying setting in. If there  _ is _ someone on the property, they won’t have much chance of accomplishing anything here in a couple minutes.”

At that point Faye Pucey reentered the room. “Blood,” she said simply and handed over a silver chalice and a small, silver knife.

Wordlessly, Theodore sliced his palm and allowed a small puddle of crimson to pool at the base of the chalice. Mrs. Pucey watched critically until saying, “that’s enough.” She took the chalice from him and sent droplets of blood deep into the woodwork of the manor with a flick of her wand.

Neville pressed his cherry wand to the cut, saying, “ _ Episkey _ ,” which knitted the skin back together, and then, “ _ Tergeo _ ,” which cleared up the blood left on Theodore’s hand.

“You’re pretty good at those,” Theodore complimented him with a smile.

“I’ve had a lot of practice. I typically end up cutting or burning myself at least once a day with the plants I work with.”

“I’ll stick to my formulas and theorems, thank you,” the blue eyed wizard shuddered.

“What a  _ wuss _ you are,” Neville said, but there was affection in his eyes, and he tucked a strand of hair behind the brunette’s ear.

Mrs. Pucey looked over at them from her wand waving, and the disdain in her eyes was apparent as she took in their obvious affection. She looked as though she was about to say something biting when they felt it… 

A magical attack hit the forming wards, and a shudder ripped through the manor with accurate force. The audible strain of magic bending and becoming brittle under attack thudded lowly in their ears, and Mrs. Pucey’s eyes grew wide. She ran the two steps over to the couch and yanked up the master of the manor with surprising strength hiding behind her thin hands.

“The wards are straining! I need access to your magic!” Faye Pucey demanded, and the words held power inside them.

“You have access to the magic I possess, as a Nott, and as the owner of this homestead,” Theodore invoked. At times like these, where stress look leave of some of his common sense, Theodore was irrationally glad that his father had beaten  _ all _ the ancient pureblood rites and rituals into his head. He knew a magical contract when he heard one. And by saying the right words, he had allowed Mrs. Pucey full access to his magical reservoirs.

Neville had jumped up to stand beside them, and when he heard the contract invoked, he groaned in dismay. But there was nothing he could do about it now, and Mrs. Pucey was already chanting long streams of latin, holding her wand tip to the center of Theodore’s forehead.

There was a clash as the wards were simultaneously strengthened and pummeled by the roaring magic that surrounded the glowing wards, seeking desperately for a tear in the fabric of woven wards! Theodore’s eyelids began to droop as he felt his magic being siphoned off, going into the defence of his house. His knees would have buckled as a great wave of power left him in response to another smash of the battering ram of attacking magic, but Neville was there and caught him under the arms. The Gryffindor continued to hold him while Mrs. Pucey’s eyes glowed with magic and her voice took on an shrill quality, barely heard over the roar of battling magics: one to protect, and one to destroy.

Another blow from outside the wards came, but this one seemed a little weaker. The quality of the magic  _ changed _ , became frustrated. As though the attacker knew that he had underprepared, that he didn’t have the amount of magic necessary to battle blood and homestead. This only meant that the attacks rose in pitch, became faster as Mrs. Pucey’s chant became louder. An unearthly wind whistled through the house, and the wards  _ rose _ ! They strengthened and thickened.

Theodore felt his head loll back, supported by a strong chest, and held still under the sharp press of a wand. His eyes were completely closed now, and there was an intense pressure around his head and chest.

He heard a frantic whisper in his ear, and by the tone, he could tell that it was Neville, but he couldn’t make out the words. He could hear the roar of magic though, and the elderly witch’s screaming chant. But even that was beginning to dull and take on a cottony quality.

He felt a little of the pressure around his head burst, followed by a sharp pain. Then, all the pressure on him withdrew, and he felt that the puddle of magic he had left was no longer draining, but was wrapping around him thinly.  He was still awake enough to notice that everything became completely silent, except for the very present voice of his beloved… which now sounded completely distraught. And then he knew no more.

*

The  _ fool _ ! The utterly  _ mad _ idiot! Neville couldn’t believe Theodore had so willingly handed control of his magic over to a woman who was little more than a stranger. He held the sagging man in his arms and prayed to whatever deity that would listen that the thin man would be kept safe. 

He took no notice of the clashing magic, paid no heed to the witch who held Theodore’s magic in her hands, could not care a whit about the magical storm wreaking havoc through the house! He had eyes only for Theodore.

The more magic that was siphoned out of his lover’s body, the paler he became. A thin sheen of sweat coated Theodore’s skin and tears pooled at the corners of his closed eyes, sticking to his long, dark lashes. The swanlike neck could no longer support the small wizard’s head, which sagged brokenly against Neville’s chest.

Neville bent his head down to Theodore’s ear, saying desperate words. Saying anything, because he was desperate to help, but  _ helpless _ in the knowledge that this was a battle for Theodore and the ties he held to his home.

“It’s going to be okay, Theo. You’ll be fine, you hear me! You can beat it back! You  _ have  _ to do this, Theo.” He almost choked on his words, but he had to keep going. Had to do  _ something _ !

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay… we’re gonna be just fine…”

He felt, more than anything, the powerful surge of magic that left Theodore, and watched in horror as the fragile being he was holding arched in obvious pain, and that’s when he saw a trickle of blood leak out from Theodore’s ear. A matching stain of red dripped from his nose and Neville fucking _ lost it! _

“THEO!” he howled, clutching the body even closer to him. “Stop it! STOP IT!” he screamed at the grey haired witch, and she looked at him calmly, lowering her wand. Neville half-realized that other than the sound of his voice the room was silent. “HE’S DONE ENOUGH! HE CAN’T TAKE ANY MORE!”

“I quite agree,” Mrs. Pucey agreed in a hoarse voice. “But the wards are complete, and Mr. Nott is still alive.” She bent to the ground and picked up a torn book page from one of many destroyed objects littering the foyet. “ _ Portus _ ,” she croaked, and then held it out to Neville. “That will take you straight to St Mungo’s.”

He was completely unable to be grateful. It was  _ her _ fault Theodore was hurt in the first place, but he snatched the portkey from her anyway and with another tap of her wand, the familiar ‘hook behind the navel’ sensation whisked them both away from the witch, and straight into the reception area of the wizarding hospital. 

Still holding Theodore’s limp body to his chest in a death grip, he barked to the room at large, “I need emergency help  _ right now! _ This man has sustained high levels of magic depletion!”

Immediately, a Healer headed their way. Her white robes cleared a path to the distraught wizard with an obvious high risk patient in his arms.

“Loosen your hold, sir,” the Healer told Neville, and only his familiarity with all things St Mungo’s caused him to comply. With several quick spells, Theodore was levitated from his grasp and into a hospital gurney, a magical chart beginning to write itself with a full list of the patient’s health.

Neville followed her as she wheeled the gurney to the lifts, simultaneously sending off a patronus… no doubt to a more skilled Mediwizard.

“Patient’s name?” she asked, refocusing her attention on the large blonde.

“Theodore Nott,” Neville answered hollowly. Theodore looked even more pale when laid out against the crisp white of hospital linens, and the blood on his face and temples stood out scarily dark and red.

“How did he come to his present condition?”

He couldn’t wrench his eyes away from the small rise and fall of Theodore’s chest, but he retained enough sense to answer the witch. “He invoked his magic to be borrowed for the defense of a family stronghold,” he said, still dismayed at the very thought of what the rash young wizard had done.

The witch tisked, and the lift  _ dinged _ and they jogged out brusquely down the long hallway. Other Healers joined them as they wheeled past until there were five or six of them next to the gurney casting diagnostics and healing charms. “Still, it shouldn’t have drained him this thoroughly.” The statement was asked as a question.

“The family stronghold was under attack at the time of the rite.”

The gurney was wheeled into a room, and a different, male Mediwizard, stepped in front of Neville, barring his access. 

Neville snarled at the thinner man, but the Mediwizard seemed completely unfazed. “The only thing you will accomplish by stepping into that room is getting in the way of wizards and witches trained to save that young man’s life,” the white robed man informed him. “Also, as this injury was partially caused due to an attack, an Auror has been notified and will be here shortly to ask you some questions.” That said, the Mediwizard turned back to the cacophony within the room and closed the door behind him, leaving Neville standing, lost, in the middle of the hallway.

The strong wizard had never felt so weak in his life. Even when he was belittled and scorned as a slowly-developing child, he had  _ never _ felt such overpowering helplessness. He stumbled back into a well placed chair, and buried his head in his hands. He was in  _ pain _ ! Not knowing how serious his small lover’s condition was tore at him, and the very though… the very thought… that maybe… he could…

It was unthinkable. And unbearable. And agonizing.

“Oh, God!” he choked out, and smothered his burning eyes in his fists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the plot continues forward with a little less cuddle time for Neville and Theodore :(  
> It has also been brought to my attention that I have not been capitalizing certain key wizard-world things: Like Gryffindor, and Auror. I apologize for my oversight and will do my best to catch these errors from now on :)  
> Thank you for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't like dialogue, this chapter is not for you! Sorry :)

Theodore first became aware of the soothing warmth of clean blankets piled on him, and the reddish tinge of the light hitting his eyelids. He felt…  _ good _ , though maybe still rather tired. And considering the last thing he remembered was a considerable amount of pain, he felt better than he could have hoped. Still feeling a bit leaden, he opened his eyes to the blinding white sterility of what could only be a hospital room. And when he’d blinked a few times in adjustment to the hard light, he was able to focus his vision enough to tell that,  _ yes _ , a hospital was  _ exactly _ where he was.

Though he was sort of numb, Theodore  didn’t feel nearly as poorly as he would have expected after such a magical strain. The biggest difference he could perceive, was the loss of that constant, steady thrum of healthy magic that was so easily forgotten or ignored until it was gone. Instead he felt a sickly cort of ache, where his magic had balled up, hard and cold and deep in his chest.  He lifted a hand to press the palm against that cold spot adjacent to his heart. Blinking again, the room came into better focus and he was able to see more detail. He was in a small room by himself, and everything from the curtains on the window to the clean tiled floor was a pristine white color that was almost… painful it was so white.  With a turn of the head, the bedside table came into view, and along with it, a single piece of parchment with a wax seal.

Thin fingers picked up the parchment and broke through the black stain of wax. Theodore’s eyebrows rose to attest his shock when a quick glance showed him the letter was from Faye Pucey!

_ Mr. Nott, _

_ I don’t know how much you remember about the attack on your manor. I was able to place very proficient wards around your homestead without draining you completely, a celebratory thing, as it would have been a shame if I’d accidentally killed you while trying to save your life. Needless to say, when you return to the manor you will be in one of the safest places you can be, protected by the blood and magic of your ancestors.  _

_ Though, for the sake of said ancestors, you might want to consider fixing that absolutely garish hole in the wall where a fireplace used to be. It’s dreadfully unsightful, and no way to treat a house as prestigious as yours is, as the last existing Nott stronghold. _

_ I have also been made aware that you are expecting a full recovery from the effects of a severely drained magical core. Congratulations. _

_ All due respect, _

_ Mrs. Faye Pucey _

So the manor was warded… which was great, only… it had been  _ really _ nice staying with Neville the last couple of nights. Perhaps he could encourage more overnight activities? Theodore smirked… that would be  _ stimulating _ . Or he could just cut to the chase and ask Neville to move in with him… or not, seeing as the manor was a rather horrible sort of place to live. So, perhaps some gentle encouragement on Neville to be the one to ask?

His musings were cut short, as the white door to the room was pushed open a tad bit. There was no doubt that it was  _ Neville’s  _ strong muscular leg, and the tips of Neville’s fingers, that he could see curled around the door. He didn’t enter the room fully though, pausing to talk to someone out of sight.

“Look, Ron, I’ve told you everything I can and I  _ really _ just want to be with my boyfriend right now. I haven’t even gotten a chance to see him since they took him from me!”

“I’m sorry, Neville. It’s just this  _ case _ ! The office hasn’t seen this many disappearances since the  _ war _ ! I just… I just wish there was more you could give me…”

“I’m sorry too, Ron, but I really have told you everything. You might try your luck with Faye Pucey the warder.”

“That’s the  _ last _ thing I want to do. But unfortunately you’re right, and I do need to go follow up on her end. Tell Nott I’ll be by later to get his statement.”

“Will do, Ron. Good luck!”

“I’ll need it.”

Theodore listened with interest to the conversation, and then watched excitedly as his lover stepped fully into the room.

“You’re awake!” Neville exclaimed, face a mask of surprise and joy when he caught sight of Theodore’s slight figure sitting up in the bed.

The muscular man strode quickly to the side of the bed. His hair was in disarray as if he’d spent a long time pulling at it, and his eyes had a pink tinge to them around the hazel of the irises that stared into blue eyes, intent and worried.

“Honestly, I’m  _ fine _ !” Theodore grumbled, pushing away at the large hand that cupped his face. “You act like I died, or something—”

Neville drew in a sharp breath, looking horrified.

“I  _ passed out _ , Neville. But I’m fine… look!” He held up his hands. “Ten fingers, ten toes… actually, I haven’t checked the toes… Neville! Knock it off! I’m sure all my toes are in place!”

“You had blood coming out of your  _ ears _ !” Neville all but howled, having worked himself into a right state while he waited out in the hallway. 

“I don’t know about that, but if you’ll take a second to calm down and grab my chart from the end of the bed, maybe we can talk about this like rational adults?”

“Lover’s quarrel?”

Theodore and Neville both whipped their heads around at the person who had innocuously entered. Abraham Foster stood, leaning against the wall jauntily, with a smug look on his face. His greying hair was brushed neatly back, and his white teeth shone out of his wide smile. Haralda Foster stepped through the door a moment later.

“What are you both doing here?” Theodore asked, a little warily due to the continued million-watt smile coming from his co-worker.

“Rude—!” Mr. Foster started.

Haralda interrupted him. “We were trying to return Albho to you. Did you know our owl can’t track you, Theodore?”

“That kneazle’s a right menace!” the husband added.

“Well, he has gotten a bit unruly since you left.”

Theodore, now that he was really looking at Mr. and Mrs. Foster, noticed the abundance of long, white cat hairs on their robes. His fellow Unspeakable’s robes were rather ragged at the bottom as well. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think of Albho all weekend!” Then his face burned, as he realized what he  _ had  _ been thinking of all weekend. It involved sex, and more sex, and then even some sex on top of that with the to-die-for man currently standing next to his hospital bed. As if feeling sympathy for his mortification—or perhaps he was still embroiled in the depths of his own distress—Neville slid a callused palm over his hand and enveloped his fingers in warmth and comfort.

“They wouldn’t let us bring him into the hospital,” the male Foster pouted, “so he’s back home, probably ripping the furniture to shreds.”

Theodore winced. 

“We’re not really here to complain about your kneazle, Theodore,” said Haralda.

“We’re not? —Ow!”

“When we found out you were in St Mungo’s, we came by to see how you were doing.”

“Oh? I’m fine, thank you.” 

Neville gave his hand a hard squeeze. 

“I’m  _ fine _ .”

The large man gave him a stern look that said he didn’t agree at _ all _ .

“Aw, Teddy! You got yourself a great, big bodyguard—owch!” Foster rubbed the back of his head, where his wife had cuffed him… again.

“We shouldn’t have come here at all if you were only going to be patronizing,” she scolded. Theodore smirked at the scene, while Neville looked on with wide eyes, this being his first encounter with the Foster couple. “Are you sure you’re okay, Theodore? I’d stay longer, but I should probably leave before my husband starts rifling through the medicine cabinets.”

“I take offence! I’m an exemplary member of society!” Foster protested.

Theodore turned fully toward Haralda, completely ignoring her childish husband. “I’m sure I’m perfectly fine Haralda, thank you. The healer will probably be by any moment to calm this one’s—” he jerked his thumb at Neville “—irrational fears.”

“If you’re really sure. Here, we brought you some chocolate,” and she stepped forward to place a large bar of chocolate and a Get Well card on the side table. She then reached over and lightly touched the hand not currently held by an overwrought boyfriend. “If you need anything at all, Theodore, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m quite fond of you, despite having only just met you. And I swear, you’re practically the only person Abe talks about when he mentions work.”

Theodore shifted his gaze to his associate in time to see the thoroughly embarrassed look flush his face. It seemed Haralda took no prisoners.

“Thank you,” Theodore said, a little stunned. He couldn’t help but think that not a week ago he’d been just a young bachelor, keeping himself busy with late hours at work, and a manor in need of repair. If he’d gotten into a scrape that landed him hospitalized then, he doubted anyone would have shown up for him. It felt… it felt indescribably good… to have the letter on the table… to have Haralda and Abraham stop by… and to have the constant pressure of Neville’s hand holding his. And when he  _ really _ thought about it, he realized he hadn’t had someone who actively cared about him since his mother died. 

Sure, he’d had a smattering of friends at Hogwarts, but they were really barely more than acquaintances. He’d certainly never been invited to the Malfoy’s yearly Yule Ball, let alone anything else. He was never in any clubs or extracurriculars. So even in Hogwarts he’d been fairly isolated. And his  _ father _ ? The man didn’t earn any commendations in the parent department.

“Thank you,” he said again, pleased his voice didn’t waver despite how choked up his throat now felt, “—for the chocolate, and the card… and for putting up with Albho…”

“It’s really not a bother,” Haralda assured, and at that moment a Healer entered the room, which suddenly seemed far too small with one extra person occupying its space. Haralda gave him a nod, and Abraham Foster sent an obnoxious smile and a flapping wave his way, and then they disappeared back out the door.

“Looks like you’ve been getting some company, Mr. Nott!” the cheery male Healer remarked. It was quite obviously one of those inane phrases that were indicative of doctoral small talk. “I’ve got all your paperwork here,” he added, holding up a sheath of small-worded parchment. 

“Is he all right?” Neville asked, too anxious to be delayed. Theodore let out a small huff.

“Hm, what?” the Healer glanced up. “Oh! You’re perfectly fine! Free to go to work tomorrow if you wanted!”

Theodore grinned in triumph and literally watched as relief poured over his lover’s features, slumping his shoulders from where they had been rigid, and easing the tightness of his jaw. A graceful smile breathed across the large man’s face as he finally relaxed, going so far as to sit on the edge of the hospital bed. Theodore brought his hand up to rest it lightly against the muscled thigh.

The Healer flipped through his papers until he came to a specific page. “Yes. Actually, the most life-threatening part of your condition was actually the easiest to fix. You had a very  _ physical _ amount of pressure placed on you, which actually burst both your eardrums, and the blood vessels in your sinuses, as well as cracking your skull and giving you a concussion.” Neville was, once again, stiff as a board. “Fortunately, healing magic works best with bones, blood, and bruises. The three B’s, we call it,” and he let out a little chuckle at the medical inside joke. “You were brought to us in time to heal all the damage. You’ll have to rest here overnight, but  _ physically _ , by morning you’ll be good as new.”

“And, not physically?” Theodore asked.

“Now this is the important bit, so pay attention.” 

Theodore was pretty sure Neville was set to memorize every word that came out of the man’s mouth.

“You suffered from some very  _ severe _ magical depletion. You’ve got enough in your magical reservoir to perform basic functions, but if you want to restore it, you’ll need to not practice magic for the next week.”

Theodore bolted upright. “ _ What _ !? Are you saying I’m effectively a  _ muggle _ for the next week?”

“I’m  _ saying _ ,” the Healer said, with a very serious tone, “that if you don’t want to end up passed out and back here again, that you’d better not do any magic unless  _ absolutely  _ necessary. As far as travel goes, you may not apparate, though you can side-along if needed. You can use the floo just like normal, though I would stay away from brooms for a while. They’re a bit like wands and tend to channel your magic to stabilize their own… not many people actually realize that. 

“There’s a few more things, everything that’s important has been underlined in red ink in these papers,” he set the papers down next to Theodore’s letter and Get Well card. “Someone from the apothecary will be by later with the potion you should take every day. It’s a simple restorative. Since there’s nothing we can  _ actually _ do to boost your magic, we can just give your body a bit of help so the magic doesn’t focus so much on your well being as on its own… and, that’s really about it. You were very lucky to get here in time, but as you did, there’s been no lasting damage done and we’ll sign your release early tomorrow morning.”

“Why can’t I leave now? I feel fine.”

“Ah, well. The brain’s  _ still _ a pretty tricky organ. And because you  _ did  _ suffer a concussion, it’s common practice to keep you under observation for the next twelve hours. There should be nothing to worry about, however. Any other questions.”

Theodore shook his head. 

“Okay, then! If you find yourself in need of anything, there’s a cord there,” he pointed at the wall behind Theodore’s head, and he turned and saw  thin string next to the bed that ran up the wall and then disappeared through a small hole. “It will ring a corresponding bell down in the office. Someone will be by to check on you every two hours, per standard procedure.” With that said, he swiftly backed out the door, leaving Neville and Theodore alone once again.

“Are you okay now, Neville?” Theodore asked gently, squeezing the firm flesh where his hand still rested on Theodore’s thigh.

“I’m a bit better, yeah,” Neville answered, leaning down until their foreheads brushed together comfortingly. “Although, it’s done little for my nerves, knowing that this guy is  _ still _ out there, and quite obviously hasn’t given up on murdering you,  _ and _ now you can barely defend yourself with magic.” The worried tone of Neville’s voice was completely at odds with the flash of murder in his eyes when he spoke of Theodore’s hunter.

“I wouldn’t be too worried, as I now have a veritable fortress of a home,” and he passed over the letter from Mrs. Pucey. Neville quickly read the short missive, snorting when he read Mrs. Pucey’s opinion on the state of Theodore’s fireplace. 

They spent the next couple hours in conversation, during which time, Theodore finally managed to talk Neville down to a level of calm rationale. He also came to several realizations about his handsome lover, one of which was that, if Neville ever ended up with children, he’d most likely have a cardiac when he had to send them off the Hogwarts! It was a fairly amusing thought, and one that caused him to linger on mental images of the large man with small children climbing all over him like he was a mountain. 

They were interrupted by loud voices in the hallway. Due to the fact that the door had been left slightly ajar after the pharmacologist dropped off his potion, they were able to hear everything said. Neville looked a little embarrassed to be listening in on a private conversation; Theodore felt no such remorse and listened shamelessly, they were talking about  _ his _ case, after all.

“—This  _ sort of thing _ doesn’t happen anymore, Ron! People don’t just disappear! People haven’t  _ just disappeared _ since we were sixteen!” The tone was frantic, on edge. It sounded decidedly different from the smooth, powerful voice he’d heard through Potter’s patronus stag before.

“Mate, you  _ need _ to calm down. I can’t have you in there with the victim if you’re just going to scare him!” Ron’s voice was cajoling.

“This—this  _ bloody _ !  _ Fucking _ !  _ Horrible _ ! Magical signature! It’s driving me fucking crazy! You have no idea—” Potter’s voice dipped, becoming quieter. “It’s disgusting… the  _ feel _ of that magic… it makes me nauseous…”

“Harry, I know—”

“No you don’t know, Ron! I’ve been to every  _ single  _ crime scene! And at each one, a wizard or witch is gone, and the spell residue—from a spell we still don’t understand, mind!—it just… it literally  _ sticks _ to every surface like a sheen of some  _ putrid. Foul. Loathsome _ thing! My magical sensitivity can be a pretty useful thing, but I swear on Dumbledore’s grave, Ron… If I have to visit another site again, I might  _ bloody lose it!” _

“... _ Harry _ … I’m sorry, mate, but I can’t have you going in there like this… Go back to mine. Hermione's always got some calming potions whipped up and you could use one. Then… I don’t know… take a bath, go for a jog… whatever. When I’m done here, we’ll go out for a pint, yeah?”

“Yeah…” Potter sounded a little winded, “yeah, that sounds nice.”

There was the hearty, slapping sound of an über bro-hug going on outside the room, and then a moment later, the tall form of Senior Auror Weasley walked through the door.

“Are you okay to answer some questions?” the redhead directed at Theodore. Said hospitalized wizard was valiantly pulling a straight face after overhearing the Savior of the Wizarding World have what amounted to a mental breakdown.

After giving his acquiescence, the remainder of the evening was spent, answering Weasley’s lengthy questionnaire. Soon after he left, Theodore felt his fatigue return with a vengeance, and was only awake enough to hear Neville say snarkily to a Healer at the door, “if you think I’m going anywhere, you’ve got another thing coming. I won’t be leaving this room until  _ he _ does, and if you want to take issue with that, I’m sure I can get Auror Ron Weasley back here in person. And he’ll say the same thing I’m saying, that there’s a dangerous person after your patient, and he’s not to be left alone!”

Theodore smiled into his pillow. If Neville was willing to invoke the name of one of the Golden Trio, there was no doubt in his mind he’d be there until morning.


	9. Chapter 9

“Free at last, Neville! You know what the worst part of being attacked was?”

“Besides you nearly dying?”

“The  _ worst _ part, was that I was really looking forward to giving you a rather more— _ intimate _ —tour of the manor after Mrs. Pucey left.” Theodore shot his tall companion an absolutely lecherous smile, and had the pleasure of seeing a startled blush appear high on Neville’s (super chiseled, super sexy) cheekbones.

They were currently walking down the dark, shiny hallway of the ninth floor. Theodore was wearing a set of fresh, though rumply, robes and was altogether feeling very pleased. He’d managed to evade his attacker once again. His home was now a fortress. He had a boyfriend who was  _ amazing _ at sex. And he’d received an interdepartmental memo the second he stepped through the floo, informing him that the clinical trials gone better than hoped. When that was all added together, plus the fact that the Department of Mysteries was more his home than anywhere else… let’s just say it was a good day. He could even still feel the slight, tingling chafe on his lips from where Neville had pulled him into a pretty intense snog right before they headed to the Ministry.

“See you after work?” he asked Neville when they were directed to different doors in the Entrance Chamber of the Department.

“Definitely. Stay safe, yeah?” the hulking man looked a little vulnerable for a moment as he gazed earnestly into the blue eyes of his lover. It would be the first time he’d left the smaller wizard’s side since the attack on Nott Manor.

“Silly. This is probably the safest place I could be,” Theodore reached out and rubbed a soothing circle into the skin of Neville’s wrist.

Neville determinably didn’t mention that he, his idiotic friends, and a whole cohort of Death Eaters had broken into the Department of Mysteries when he was only fifteen. Instead, the hazel eyed man brought that soft, thin hand up to his mouth and he pressed a gentle kiss to the skin.

Theodore’s breath caught in his chest at the simple intimacy of the moment. His eyes locked with a hazel gaze full of resolute promises. Neville took a step back and turned swiftly from the room, as though if he stayed a moment longer he would be unable to leave.

It took a moment for the remaining wizard to blink back his haze of thought, and then, he too turned to his respective door, his footsteps echoing on the black, mirror like surface of the floor.

He quickly stifled his laughter when he walked into the office to see Foster battling his papers away from a giant, white menace.  The rest of Foster’s desk was in ruins, papers scattered haphazard onto the floor, his little knick knacks lying listlessly on their sides.

At Theodore’s delighted cry of, “Albho!” the furry creature looked up sharpish and launched from the desk, his hind legs kicking more papers into Foster’s spluttering face. The kneazle jumped up into his arms, but when Theodore brought him up for a cuddle, he was rewarded with a sharp-toothed bite on his collarbone. “Owch!” Albho gave him a look of menace, pink-rimmed eyes glaring balefully. “Yes, alright. I suppose I deserve it after abandoning you all weekend. I get to take you to the manor after work though!”

“Too right!” Foster said, and glared at the creature from behind the safety of his desk.

“How did you get him in here, anyhow?”

“I’m an Unspeakable,” Foster sniffed. “I can bloody well do what I want!”

Theodore smiled and went back to stroking his seething pet, remembering how he’d said nearly the same thing when bringing Albho into the ministry the other day.

*

“Hey, Belby! Do you need me for anything today?” Neville asked the waxen, portly wizard. 

Neville had entered Belby’s—he couldn’t help but think of it as a lair—to see him stomping around the large space, flipping through a few papers here, and shuffling a book there. Several medium sized cauldrons made of diverse metals stood bubbling in different states of readiness behind the heavy man. Neville’s cross-bred plant lounged, looking deceptively peaceful behind its enchanted bluish barrier. Other than the fires under the cauldron, a couple torches on the walls, and the blue light the spellwork around the plant cast, the large space was unlit. The dark quality of the room never failed to remind Neville of the dour potions lab from his most loathed class, but he only had to look at Belby to set his mind straight; the wizard was everything Professor Snape was not.

Belby barely looked up from where his moist lips had been mouthing the words of a text. “You wish to leave?” His voice had a sickening way of saying words wetly, and were it not for Belby’s brilliant mind and the completely captivating research they did together, Neville had no doubt he would have long ago left the gloomy room and its clammy master behind.

“Yes. Just for the day.”

“Then go.” The words dripped out of his mouth, accompanied by a dismissive hand gesture.

Neville fled.

As he made his way out of the Ministry and back to his cottage—and more importantly, his greenhouses—he remembered the intense feeling of helplessness he’d had when Theodore’s unconscious, bleeding body was cradled in his arms. He had been unprepared, woefully so, for how utterly  _ strangled _ he’d feel under the onslaught of emotions buffeting him.  It had become quite clear, in that moment, that his feelings toward the little brunette were more serious than he’d previously realized. The best way he could explain it was that though he’d known he’d fallen for Theodore, he hadn’t realized how  _ hard _ he’d fallen. After he’d seen the injured wizard alive and awake, he’d been able to grasp hold of some sorely needed rationality, and that was when he started planning.

Realistically, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to attach himself like a limpet to Theodore’s being. The wizard’s wiry build, held a massive amount of independence, and Neville just  _ knew _ that any infringement on that independence would not go over well. But he also knew that he would drive himself spare with needing to protect his new boyfriend. It was in his very nature, the ingrained need to protect, to shield from harm like he had his final year at Hogwarts. It hadn’t taken too long to think of a solution, though one that made his gut churn uncomfortably.

He unlocked the door of the greenhouse with an old, well polished key, the door opening silently on its greased  hinges. Many of the flora in this particular greenhouse were noise sensitive, and prone to attack at sudden sounds. Fortunately, he’d always had a way with plants, and had already established pretty firm trust with the ones in here. The same was  _ not _ to be said of the plant in Belby’s lair, which had tried, and succeeded a few times, to take chunks out of him.

He had a specific little guy in mind for this trip though. It was something he’d created himself, a little mishap when studying the differences between wizarding viruses, and natural fungi… in the end, he had what he liked to call The Latching Defender. It was a small little thing, its wispy arms as thin as hair, and artfully beautiful. Inside its thin arms, it held an arsenal of projectile spores, each an extremely powerful paralytic. The best thing about The Latching Defender though, was its protective instincts. Upon a threat to the plant’s host, it would immediately launch its paralyzing spores at the threat. In actuality, it was really only looking out for itself, but since The Latching Defender couldn’t survive without a host organism, those protective instincts expanded to whatever… or whomever… the host was.

“Hello there, beautiful,” he whispered to the clump of gently waving stems. They blended almost seamlessly with the short bristles of its host, a currently sleeping hedgehog. Neville coaxed his fingers closer to the little fungus-virus and a couple small, inquisitive tendrils wafted over to to play with them. “I’ve got someone really special I want you to meet,” Neville told The Latching Defender. “He’s going to be an amazing host.”

It took one more encouraging nudge of his fingers, but then a few thin strands broke off from the rest of the clump and wormed their way up his hand. When they reached his wrist, they stopped, writhing around for a little bit before finding a suitable place to latch. Then, with seamless ease, and not even a twinge to tell it had happened, The Latching Defender burrowed its ends into his pulse point, making a happy sort of wriggling movement.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” the Neville told it. “You won’t be there for long.”

It hadn’t taken too long to cajole the little guy into transferring hosts, so Neville ambled back to his cottage to while away the time until the end of the work day.  He really did have an overflow of books whose spines had never been cracked, gifted to him by Hermione over the last three years. 

He settled in on a squashy armchair by his fireplace. It was one of the only things he’d added when he moved into the cottage, simply because its worn and comfortable cushions never failed to remind him of Gryffindor tower. The book he picked up was about the history of wizards breeding with other magical creatures… which,  _ ew _ … but the topic was also horrifyingly fascinating. It was easy enough to keep him occupied in between each anticipatory glance at the clock on the mantle.  Finally, the short hand of the clock began to close in on the number four, and he hastily stepped into the floo.

He found his lover scribbling furiously at a lengthy scroll, papers strewn about the office, and smudges of ink on his fingers and chin. He looked  _ adorable _ , though Neville had better sense than to say that to the wizard himself. He didn’t want to interrupt Theodore’s work; the slim wizard had a concentrated frown on his face, and he kept looking back and forth between what he was writing, and a stack of notes which his left hand almost continuously rifled through. Neville also didn’t want to leave, which left him in the slightly awkward position of ‘creepy man in the doorway.’ He huffed out a small breath before deciding to  _ hell _ with the creeper persona. He walked right into the room and sat at a chair against the wall closer to Foster’s desk than Nott’s.

Theodore didn’t so much as twitch from the work he was doing, though Foster gave him a grin, and then pointed at Theodore before making a shushing gesture. Neville was alright with that, and settled more comfortably into the hard-backed chair. He took a few cursory glances around the room, noting the slate walls covered in diagrams and symbols and equations… it looked very complicated, and went pretty far over his head. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that though he excelled at plant related things, he’d never exactly been the  _ brightest _ boy. He also took a look at Foster’s desk, covered in the same riffraff of papers Theodore had on his. There  _ was _ one difference though, for on the corner of Foster’s desk there was a shallow box with several files sitting in it. Curiosity piqued, as it was the only organized thing on the desk, Neville leaned over a little to read the words at the top: Missing Confidential Report. Foster noticed him looking and gave a rueful smile, and a little shrug, which Neville returned with a shrug of his own, before his eyes strayed back to the one place he most wanted to look.

Theodore’s hair hung in his eyes, and when he raised a hand to brush it away, he got another smudge of blue ink on his forehead. With his brown hair tucked out of the way behind his perfectly sculpted ears, his large, dark blue eyes were on display, glaring down at a paper. The quill sat lightly in his hand, and it was the little things like the delicate arch of Theodore’s wrist and the careful way he held his fingers, that reminded Neville of how his lover grew up in an old, pureblood household. Because, honestly, when taken at face value, Theodore looked as far from pureblood as they came. For one thing, he was  _ working _ … as an Unspeakable of course, but it was still a fairly menial Ministry job. His robes had creases in the wrong places, so that the clothes almost looked slept in. Further perusal revealed that of all the small buttons that formed three parts of a square on Theodore’s chest, two spaces were unbuttoned. Then there was the fact that his fingers were blue with ink and his pale skin showed stark against the other blue marks on his face. And then… oh,  _ yes _ … 

A pleased curl of possessive feeling wafted up through Neville’s chest as his eyes set on the  _ very _ obvious red bruise visible on the side of Theodore’s neck. It was at odds with Theodore’s pale skin, and it mate desire coil low in the Gryffindor’s belly. He wanted to mark up that smooth skin again, press his fingers into the dips and curves of that beautiful body once more.  He yearned to touch and take, in the age-old dance of intimacy.

As though sensing Neville’s growing impatience, Theodore gave a frustrated sigh before irritably crossing out one more line on the parchment, and then pushing it to the side. The Slytherin then reached into a pocket of his robes and withdrew a very old, silver pocket watch with the Nott coat of arms on the cover. 

So fucking  _ cute _ ! Who the fuck carried pocket watches anymore?

Theodore checked the time, and a pleased smile crossed his face before he shoved the pocket watch back into his robe. He gathered his papers quickly into an organized pile, and then dumped them all into a magically expanded drawer in his desk. Only then did he look up, and straight into Neville’s own hazel eyes.

The large man chuckled when Theodore let out a startled yelp and skittered his chair across the floor. “What the hell, Neville? Give a man a bit of warning next time! Merlin, my heart!” and he pressed a hand to his chest.

Close to Neville, Foster gave a loud bark of laughter.

“ _ Shit _ ,” Theodore swore.

Neville held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Sorry, sorry. I just didn’t want to interrupt when you looked so engrossed in your work. You looked pretty into it.”

The slight wizard visibly brightened and took his hand away from his chest. “I was, actually! I got a hell of a lot done, and Foster there has gotten a lot of really promising data from our physical trials. We’re going to be able to completely wrap this up soon and move on to applying the things we’ve learned to broader situations! So that’s something to look forward to… but what about you? How was your day?

“Good,” the hand The Latching Defender was attached to twitched guiltily. “I got what I wanted done.”

“Brilliant!” Theodore beamed, and it was amazing how his entire face lit up with his smile. The white teeth stood out straight and perfect behind his full lips. “What do you say you apparate the both of us to mine, since I can’t floo until the builders come and install a new  fireplace and a new wall? You’re automatically keyed into the wards, since you were inside the manor when they were put up.”

The heat that coiled in Neville’s belly earlier rose again when he saw the wicked gleam in Theodore’s eyes.  He stood up from his chair abruptly. “Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

Theodore bent behind his desk for one moment, and when he reemerged, he was carrying a giant, white, furry… thing… he could hear the whatever it was snoring softly.

“What is that?” Neville asked.

It was Foster who answered, “An atrocious monster named, Albho. I’d run if I were you, Longbottom.”

“Leave him alone!” Theodore said reproachfully. “He’s a kneazle, and he’s my pet. Foster returned him to me this morning.” Theodore cuddled the fluff ball close to his face. It was a little nauseating. Neville wondered if it was considered insane to be jealous of a  _ cat _ .

“I didn’t know kneazles could snore,” he said instead of anything else he might say.

“This one can. He’s special!”

“Special. Right. I guess I’ll take you both home then?”

“And don’t bring him back!” Foster yelled at their retreating forms.

It didn’t take long to make their way to the floo, and then the Ministry apparition site. Neville wrapped his arms snugly around Theodore’s fit waist, careful not to jostle the snoozing feline, and pulled him into a Side-Along that landed them both in Theodore’s bedroom.

“Subtle,” Theodore grinned up at him. He opened the door of his room and gently deposited his pet on an antique looking ottoman. Quickly moving back inside, he closed the door and turned around before grabbing the collar of Neville’s robes and pulling him down into a searing kiss. Neville pulled Theodore in closer while his hands dragged down Theodore’s hips. One hand slid up unconsciously to the fine hairs on the back of that elegant neck. His lips were busy opening the softness of Theodore’s lips until his tongue could plunder inside the hot, wet mouth. Theodore tasted like tea and sugar and he wanted to search that mouth until he’d licked out every last taste. A very faint slither on the underside of his palm reminded him of the purpose of his day, and he fisted his hand in Theodore’s soft hair.

Uneasiness and guilt battered at his insides as he allowed The Latching Defender to make Theodore its unwitting host. He noticed the faint feeling of the last of the plant’s tendrils transferring over to Theodore’s hair and pushed his guilt away forcefully. He couldn’t be around Theodore every minute of every day, and his virus-fungus could! It was the only thing he could think of that would permanently protect Theodore, and all the little plant needed was an almost unnoticeable amount of the host’s energy. It was a small little thing, and it didn’t require much. He felt horribly guilty for deceiving his boyfriend about the whole thing, but he couldn’t be sure that Theodore would be okay with having a very poisonous, life-sucking, live plant living off his person. It’s not the sort of thing people could easily accept.

He pushed his lips more forcefully to Theodore’s and pushed his thoughts out of his mind. It was  _ done _ . The Latching Defender had already found a new home in its host’s hair. When the psycho trying to kill his lover was finally caught, Neville would tell him about the measures he’d taken, and hopefully wouldn’t get hexed too badly for it.

His self-reproach was blown out of his mind with a strong wave of heat when Theodore shoved a hand down to the front of his pants to press against his swelling erection.

*

“ _ Theo _ …”

Neville’s voice was a breathy half-moan against Theodore’s skin and it made him squirm. The strong hand in his hair clenched and relaxed again, and he relished in the pull as he pressed his chest into Neville again.

“Bed,” he told Neville, and his voice rasped in his throat.

Neville didn’t need to be told twice, his hands shifted from Theodore’s hair to his thighs, and he lifted the smaller wizard up with easy strength. The play of thick muscles under thin cloth was enticing. Theodore gripped at Neville’s forearms while his legs came up to wrap around the firm waist. He felt the muscles under his hands and thighs contract and release as Neville took a few quick steps across the room. And then he was falling back onto his bed, Neville’s form surrounding him, strong arms boxing him in. He was in a world that existed solely in the space between Neville’s body and the sheets, and it was warm, and it smelled of dirt and clean air and Neville, and it was  _ perfect _ !

“Oh!” he said, as Neville’s mouth descended on his neck, sucking skin into the cavern of his mouth, and biting along the edges of the marks he drew on Theodore’s skin. The tongue trailed a cool path from pulsepoint to clavicle, and he grasped at the bulky man, pulling him closer.

“I need you to not be wearing clothes,” the blonde growled and he nodded with wide eyes. “And I need you to stop wearing robes with so many buttons.”

There was a ripping sound, as yet another one of his robes was torn, and the small buttons from the chest piece went flying in all directions. Neville’s display of savagery shouldn’t have turned him on, but he was so. turned. on. He couldn’t even bemoan the fact that yet another one of his robes was ruined, and he  _ really _ needed to learn some more basic household charms, and, “Oh, Neville, — _ shitpleasedon’tstop! _ ”

A wet vacuum descended on his nipple, while callused fingers pinched and rolled the other until both were sitting as tiny rosebud peaks on his chest, and then Neville switched sides, bringing his tongue to lave the opposite nipple, while his fingers circled the other. His blood was singing in his veins, travelling in a rush to his chest and face and  _ cock _ !

“Fuck, Theo… so sexy.”

He flushed at the compliment, and then Neville’s hands were at his waist wher he flicked the buttons of his trowsers through their holes as fast as he could but  _ not fast enough _ .

“Neville, Please!”

He reached up to kiss his lover again and the clash of mouths was sloppy, made of teeth and spit. Neville grinned against his lips when he’d undone the last button, but then the magnificent body was drawing away, taking its warmth and scent with it as he shimmied down Theodore’s legs and took his trousers and boxers with him. 

Theodore laid on the sheets like an offering, knees apart, shoes kicked off somewhere halfway across the room, but socks still on. His cock, long and thin and beautiful, jutted up and was flushed red, a clear bead of precome dotting the tip. Both nipples were shiny with spit slick and hard on the pale expanse of chest. His throat was covered with days of hickeys, and his eyes… his eyes bore straight into Neville’s, pupils completely blown, bar for a thin strip of inky blue that ringed them.

Neville’s hands shook when he brought them to the clasps of his robes, and his eyes never wavered from the sight before him as he shrugged them off. He pushed his briefs down until he could step out of them. Theodore’s eyes followed Neville’s hands and then stopped and stared when the large cock was revealed. 

“Shit. Shit, Neville.  _ Shit _ . You’re so gorgeous! C’mere.”

Two drawn out moans filled the space of the room as naked flesh slid softly against naked flesh. One of Neville’s thumbs pressed down against a bright red lovebite and Theodore arched up against the pain and pleasure feeling. His hands scrabbled uselessly at Neville’s sides, pulling him up, or pushing him down he didn’t know.

“Lube?” Neville asked, and the single word made his mind white out for several seconds.

“ _ Yes… _ ”

“Where is it?” Neville’s voice rumbled with amusement.

“What? Fuck… oh,  _ fuck _ . I don’t have any! Shit, I just use, like… lotion… and—”

“That’s alright, I know a spell.”

Theodore whined high in the back of his throat when Neville’s heavy warmth left his body  _ again _ to go rummage back in his robes. It  _ did _ mean he had a pretty nice view of that delectable rear, and the thighs bunching tight underneath it, as Neville bent to grab his wand.

When Neville turned around, his eyes widened at the dark look Theodore sent him. Knees bent, thighs spread, cock flushed, and eyes hooded… the brunette knew how to look good.

“Turn around,” the hulking blonde growled and the sound went straight to Theodore’s cock.

He felt the bed dip, and then the rough pads of Neville’s fingers were skimming over his skin, moving him bodily into the position Neville wanted and it was so fucking sexy the way he just… took  _ control _ like that! His knees were bent wide, head on his elbows, and it was such a  _ yielding _ sort of position and he might not have done it… but he  _ trusted  _ Neville, and the blonde made him feel so  _ good _ .  No warning, just the steady press of a slick finger at his hole, and his back bowed as he pushed into the feeling, loving the way the first finger slid in so easy… loving the way Neville immediately crooked his finger until—

“ _ Neville _ !  _ Please  _ more!”

The unrelenting pressure on his prostate, the open mouthed kisses sucking new marks across his back and neck, it all served to make him reel, and he trembled in the cage of strong arms and hard flesh.

When the second finger sunk in, Neville’s other hand came around to stroke his cock lightly, and shit! The burn and the pleasure and the  _ not enough _ … he couldn’t imagine how he’d never done this before… but it was also perfect, because he was able to give these moments to the man he… the man he  _ loved _ !

“ _ Neville— _ ” a broken whine.

“Shh, baby, I know. We’re almost there. I just need to stretch you a bit more. You’re so  _ fucking _ tight!” Neville pushed the hard line of his cock into Theodore’s crack alongside his fingers, still moving and scissoring and curling. “So perfect for me, aren’t you Theo? You want me to fuck you like this?”

“ _ Merlin _ ! What’re you saying?”

“I’m saying—” the third finger pushed in beside the others and Theodore groaned. “Do you want me to fuck you from behind, or do you want something else? Want to ride me?”

Theodore keened. 

“Yeah, that sounds good to me too.”

Neville’s fingers withdrew gently, but the grasp was rough when he was turned around to straddle Neville’s waist when he laid himself stretched out on the bed. He looked so handsome like this… stomach bowed to gravity, muscles shining with a light sheen of sweat, hair wild, eyes feral, lips fuckable… like some greek god brought to life and given to  _ him _ ! It was unthinkable. 

And then he didn’t think any more because Neville was lifting him up, positioning himself below, and he was sinking down onto that thick hard length that made him feel fuller than he’d ever been before. He rested there for a moment, eyes shut and hands grabbing into Neville’s pectorals. The heat and stretch of his opening around Neville’s cock was too much for several moments, but the hard and unresisting pressure on his prostate soon made it not nearly enough. He raised himself shakily, and Neville’s hands flew to his hips to steady him.

Drawing up he felt every curve and vein of the solid length buried inside him, and the wet, pull-push as he fell back into it was hypnotizing. Even better was the ragged groan it drew from his lover’s mouth.

“That’s it, Theo. C’mon baby.”

It was fast and desperate. They ached to claim each other’s bodies and hearts. Theodore’s thighs strained and his internal muscles clamped down tight, contracting and releasing repeatedly. Neville fucked up into him, and Theodore reveled in the slap of strong thighs on his ass, while work worn hands left finger shaped bruises on his hips. The age old dance of passion and lust drove them closer, until Neville had curled his upper body up, hands moving up to rest on the curve of Theodore’s sides. They shared the same air, they breathed the same breath and their eyes locked together as the fucking turned into something less desperate, and more comforting.

Neville was gentle as he held Theodore to him with one arm and used the other to flip them over. The pale wizard underneath wrapped his slender legs around Neville’s waist, and their lips connected in an open mouthed union of soft tongue and rasp of teeth. Through it all, the unending roll of Neville’s hips as he pushed himself deep inside his lover. They mapped each other’s bodies and they left their marks plain. Some high up on necks, a claiming mark for all to see, and some deeper, internal… a reminder for the other of what they had.

Neville was making him  _ feel _ as he had never before. Every pore of his body sang with love. It pumped in his veins and sparked like reflected stars in the pool of his magic inside. His breath came in gasping sobs because it was  _ too much _ and it was not enough!

“Give me—” he said desperately, only half aware of what he said. “Give me everything… give me all of you!”

“Fucking hell,  _ Theo… _ you know you already have it…”

Neville leaned down a bit further until their chests brushed with every rhythmic thrust and his cock—

“Sweet… bollocking  _ hell _ !  _ Nev _ !”

—his cock pressed up into each drag against the firm planes of Neville’s stomach and he moved up into it, and he pushed down onto that thick heat…

His head filled with pleasure and he let himself go in the impregnable place they had made for themselves. It was a space of soft whispers and heady groans, of rustling sheets and sliding skin. And the moment he relaxed completely into the haven under Neville’s body, he came with a shudder and a needy cry and felt an almost simultaneous rush of warm liquid fill him as he gazed into Neville’s face. 

It was something he never wanted to forget. The godlike man had the most captivating expression when he came. Neville’s eyes were open and  _ hungry _ as he eagerly drank in the sight of his lover coming undone underneath him. And his mouth hung open on panting breaths and his golden tanned skin rippled and caught the light. He was… he was  _ beautiful.  _

And Theodore loved him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so addicted to writing this story... and it never feels like I have enough time to write. Having two kids both under two years old probably helps that along :) Thank you for staying with this story for so long!


	10. Chapter 10

Waking up after a peaceful night’s sleep was always enjoyable, but waking up after a peaceful night’s sleep wrapped up in the warm embrace of his lover had to be about one of the most incredible feelings _ever_. Theodore tucked himself more firmly into the sleeping Gryffindor. Neither of them had any clothes on, not bothering to put anything on after last night’s… activities, and Theodore curled up and gathered in as tight to that broad chest as he possibly could. Neville’s arms wrapped around his chest and waist and held him firm, and their legs were a hopeless tangle. Undoubtedly, there would be at least one numb limb when they finally managed to extract themselves.

He could try to wake Neville up and do something about the warm arousal that tingled gently over his skin, but this was so nice, and Neville’s soft exhalations in his hair was so warm and he just felt so _good_ … Theodore went back to sleep.

The next time he woke up, Neville was still completely out, and had managed to kick most of the blankets on top of him. This meant that a good portion of that delectable body was on display, and Theodore took a good look before deciding not to be _too_ much of a creeper. He gently removed Neville’s arm from around his waist, and untangled their legs with equal caution. Neville grumbled a little bit, but still didn’t wake. He was sorely tempted to stay the extra hour before work under the sheets with Neville, but unfortunately he really had to piss.

After relieving himself, Theodore pulled on a grey dressing gown, and wandered into the manor’s large kitchen. It was nice to be back in what he liked to think of as ‘his’ space. It was the one area in the house his father never ventured to; the kitchen was for house elves, and not for ‘proper wizards’. He’d stocked it full of everything a kitchen should contain, and had nearly bought Flourish and Blotts out of cookbooks after a scary incident involving the oven and some bacon wrapped in paper. How was _he_ to know what one did and didn’t put in the oven? It’s not like there were instructions… hence, the cookbooks.

He didn’t need cookbooks to whip up a fry-up, however. At least… not anymore. Memories of disasters past made him shudder, but Theodore was pretty confident in his kitchen skills nowadays. He got out the tomatoes, mushrooms, eggs, and sausage, and put the kettle on the burner as well. He thanked his sensible great-great grandfather Nott for being a Potions master and equipping the kitchen and small dungeon with non-magical gas burners. If not, he wouldn’t be able to impress Neville with his cooking skills seeing as he still couldn’t use magic.

It was at this point that Albho wandered in, and started rubbing against his calves, purring loudly, and quite obviously begging for some food. Theodore bent and scratched behind the kneazle’s fluffy ears, before setting out a tin on which he placed several slices of ham, in favor of which Albho abandoned him.

With the furry beast appeased, Theodore let himself fall into the familiar routine of breakfast preparations, cooking for two this time. It was an anomaly he savored. Soon enough, the aroma of a hearty fry-up filled the air. Theodore glided around the kitchen, grabbing plates, putting a tea cozy over the teapot filled with tea leaves and boiled water, setting up the cream and sugar, and dishing out large portions of breakfast onto two plates. He was bending over to grab a tray when he felt Neville enter the kitchen. Maybe it was a shift in the air, maybe he heard the whisper of bare feet on the black granite floor, or _maybe_ he could _physically_ feel the way Neville’s eyes bore into him when he came to a stop in the doorway.

“Were you going to bring me breakfast in bed?” Neville asked with an roughened, just-woke-up, sexy bedroom voice. The tall, muscular wizard stood in the doorway, wearing only his boxer briefs, wavy blonde hair still sleep (and _sex_ , Theodore’s brain reminded) rumpled. He even still had pillow creases imprinted in little red lines on his cheek! Merlin, Neville was going to be the death of him. Every time Theodore saw the handsome Gryffindor his veins filled with liquid arousal and his heart thumped faster.

Theodore had frozen in place with his tray when he first set eyes upon the gorgeous man in the doorway, and now he felt like a teenage girl around her first crush. Seriously, his heart needed a talking to! If it always acted up this badly around Neville he’d go spare! It’s just that… he couldn’t help it, really. And Neville had _no right_ to go walking around like… like _that_! It was utterly unfair to his hormones!

“What?” Theodore croaked.

Neville crossed the threshold of the kitchen, seamlessly slipping his hands under Theodore’s dressing gown to rub small circles with his thumbs into the soft skin of Theodore’s sides.

“Breakfast in bed?” the blonde repeated gently.

“Er… that was the plan… yes…” Neville was in all actuality a complete distraction. What was he doing again? Nothing was burning, was it? He had finished the food, right?

Large, soft lips descended upon his in a warm, chaste kiss. Theodore leaned into it and whined when Neville wouldn’t open his mouth. The blonde drew back with a laugh.

“Sorry, Theo. I haven’t actually brushed my teeth yet. I woke up to the smell of something delicious and just… followed my nose!” The next to withdraw were the large hands from his sides, which was just so unfair, and _fuck_ he should not be so affected by just a few touches… well, and a mostly naked sex god, but who was counting?

“I’ll be back in a mo, just got to use the toilet. Down the hall, right? Oh, that smells seriously divine, by the way. Can’t wait!”

And then that powerful, knee shaking presence left the room, and Theodore was left more than a little bit breathless as he scrambled to gather his wits back about him. Maybe his hands shook a little when he set the plates down at the comfortable kitchen nook he preferred to the dark and austere dining area. The area consisted of two plain wooden chairs with a matching table just big enough for two people. He set up the tea and silverware and by the time Neville returned with a relieved bladder and minty breath (and wearing a white undershirt and trousers, the absolute _shame_ ), he felt he was once again in control of his own body.

“Cozy,” Neville commented when he settled into one of the chairs.

“We can move it to the dining room, if you want—”

“Did I say I didn’t like it,” Neville asked with a teasing smile.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Neville occasionally mumbling compliments around his fork. It was such a peaceful, domestic moment that Theodore was completely unprepared when his companion opened his mouth to ask slyly, “you’re not wearing anything under that dressing gown, are you?”

And Theodore was suddenly very, _very_ aware that _no,_ he was _not_ wearing anything underneath… not even boxers. Pink blossomed into being on his face, and he squirmed where he sat. Neville, the bastard, continued eating with a casual nonchalance that completely belied his previous question.

After squirming uncomfortably for another several minutes that felt like the longest, tensest period of Theodore’s short life, he blurted out, “how are you just—after you just—eating!”

Neville literally roared with laughter. His pearly whites flashed in the light coming through the windows and his head tipped back in mirth. And the dust of pink on Theodore’s cheeks bloomed into full on red. He stood up from the table abruptly, ready to run back to the room and change into his robes. But before he got more than a step past Neville’s chair, the blonde snapped an arm out and caught him around his waist, bringing him into the vee of his legs.

“C’mon Theo,” the Gryffindor murmured, pressing his head up under Theodore’s chin. The vulnerable position Neville purposefully placed himself in already had him melting a little. “I couldn’t just say _nothing_ when you were being all… deliciously provocative in this flimsy—” the hands ran up and down Theodore’s sides, tracing his ribs and hips with small, circular motions “—grey—” one hand reached up and pushed a fold of cloth to the side, revealing goose-bumped flesh and a single, peaked nipple. Neville’s thick, rough fingers explored the revealed expanse with a lazy proficiency “piece of fabric.” The hand still at his side reached up to casually untie the loose knot of the belt. “Seriously, you’re like fucking wet dream come to life.” Neville was most certainly forgiven, Theodore thought deliriously.  He had the presence of mind to glance over at where his kneazle had been, but Albho was long gone from the kitchen.

“We don’t—” he swallowed, hard, “—We don’t have time…”

“When was the last time you were late to work?” Neville asked, dragging his tongue down Theodore’s sternum.

“I don’t… I don’t think I’ve ever—”

“Well it sounds like you’re overdue.”

He was being carried again, hoisted up and walked over to a solid surface… the counter. He spared a moment to be glad that Neville hadn’t bothered to slide the dressing gown clean off, as it was currently the only thing protecting his ass and balls from making contact with a _really_ cold surface. His hands were already fumbling at Neville’s waist, pushing the button of the trousers through its hole, untying the strings that laced up the front. Who on Merlin’s bloody earth invented such—Ah! Neville had it well in hand… and not just figuratively.

The blonde’s breeches had found their way down to his ankles, and Theodore’s hands flew to Neville’s hips to steady himself or pull the gorgeous man closer he didn’t know. But Neville had both hands on his ass now and had pulled him close enough that their erections could press and rut against each other. Meanwhile, Neville lowered his head and set to work on sucking stark red marks all over his chest and neck. Every time the blonde’s mouth would find an unblemished bit of skin to ruin, Theodore’s blood ran straight to his cock. That sucking pull drew forth an ache that spread through his body, sent fire in his lungs that burned with every gasping breath. Sweat and precome slid the way for the helpless grind of their arousals.

“Always so fucking sexy, Theo,” Neville panted, before settling his red mouth over the dip at the base of Theodore’s throat and taking that sensitive skin into the cavern of his mouth.

“You can—you can do that harder,” Theodore gasped, releasing one hand from its death grip on Neville’s hip and bringing it in between their bodies. His fingers wrapped around the girth of both rocking erections, forming a tight chute into which they could thrust. Two things happened simultaneously. Neville’s grip on his ass tightened and he was pulled in as tight to the other man as he could possibly be, and then Neville’s teeth bit down _hard_ on the curve where shoulder met neck. The hand currently at Neville’s hip flew up to grip a muscular shoulder.

He could feel it in the way every muscle in his lover coiled, and in the way his rocking thrusts grew wild and stuttering.

“I—” Theo said. “I—” and Neville’s eyes met his and the blonde _took_ the words Theodore couldn’t voice out of the expressions in his eyes. His orgasm took him completely by surprise, rushing out of him as he dug the fingers of his left hand into the brawny shoulder it was clutching, and thrust jaggedly against Neville’s giant cock and the soft skin at the seam his thighs.

“So sexy,” Neville groaned. “Love it when you come.”

Cock spent, but with his come slicking the way, the blonde thrust against his over-sensitive flesh. One more rock of slick sweet hardness against his come-wet hip, and Neville shouted his release, clutching the brunette as close as he could without dragging him off the counter.

Neville’s loosened his grip and Theodore slumped into the counter, hooded eyes greedily drinking in the image of his debauched boyfriend. Neville was still breathing hard, and he must have bitten his lips once or ten times, because they were cherry red. The corded muscles in his arms were trembling where he gripped the counter as though he would fall down if he didn’t. His shirt had ridden up during their carnal pursuits, showing beautiful tanned skin all the way to the top of his hips. He was just so… _masculine_ was the only word to come to mind. Like whichever god had designed Neville put all the best parts of the male image in one pot and _stirred_! Theodore moaned weakly and closed his eyes.

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it? To kill me with sex.”

Neville straightened up and his breathing finally began to even out. “That sounds like a perfect way to die. I’ll take one of those, thank you.”

The Slytherin’s nose scrunched up as a disgusted look passed over his face, “and there goes my afterglow, thank you _very_ much. Ew. Don’t you _dare_ ever die while having sex with me!”

Laughter met his words, and then he was being helped to his feet, while Neville expressed his opinion that a shower could do them both some good.

“That counter could use a hearty _scourgify_ as well,” was his input.

Showering with another person was a whole new kind of experience, Theodore decided a few minutes later. There was far too little water, and far too many male body parts, but for all that, he found himself looking forward to the next time they showered together. These casual, intimate moments were the memories he hoarded, keeping them locked up tight and secure so he could study the and feel warm all over again later. Things like Neville holding his hand on their first date, or the way he had talked so enthusiastically about being a professor at Hogwarts, and now the way the muscles in his back bunched together as he raised both arms to kneed the shampoo into his hair, thick lines of suds travelling down his neck and the broad plain of his back, falling into grooves and forming into rivulets. The water sluiced down and maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that the shower was so small, because it meant he and Neville were constantly crowded together in the steamy space. Their hands never stayed to themselves for long, constantly finding excuses to touch. When Theodore rinsed the shampoo out of his hair, Neville’s hands strayed to his back, to rub soap into that hard-to-reach spot that everyone has. They traded places often, sharing the shower spray, and every time they did so, the entire length of their bodies brushed and they lingered against one another for the span of a few moments.

“I’m— _We_ are going to be so late to work,” Theodore muttered later, while rubbing the towel vigorously over his hair.

Neville opened his mouth to answer, but when he looked over whatever he was going to say dissolved into a loud snort of amusement.

“No wonder your hair always looks like a hay stack!”

“I’ll have you know, I also _brush_ my hair!”

Unfortunately, he was standing in front of the sink mirror, which decided to chime in with, “what a lovely day that was! Now, if only you would do it more _often_ … you’re such a handsome young master when you put a little _time_ into your appearance!”

Whatever it was about the situation, the running late, their states of nudity, the mirror’s comment, or some combination of that and more, Neville and Theodore locked gazes and immediately burst into peals of laughter, which echoed and reverberated in the space of the bathroom. They laughed past the point where Theodore’s cheeks started to hurt from disuse, and every time they almost stopped, they’d look at each other and the trigger would set them off again.

The laughter ended with Neville sitting and gasping for breath on the toilet, and Theodore leaning hard against the wall, cheeks pulled up in a ridiculous smile that made his jaw ache.

“We—” he giggled, “—we really are—” a deep breath of air, “— _so_ fucking late.”

“ _That_ … was bloody brilliant! It’s been… ages since the last time I laughed that hard. And for the record, I love your hair! It always looks like you just rolled out of bed with someone and it’s _dead_ sexy!”

They both grinned at each other.

“Fortunately you’re _mine_ ,” Neville said suddenly possessive. “So the only person you’ll be rolling out of bed with is _me_!”

Theodore’s answering smile was blinding, and Neville stood up to deliver a hard, claiming kiss that made them both lean in for more. Theodore was the first to step away, “I do want to get to work at some point, Neville. All that paperwork yesterday? That means that I get to start on the practical applications!”

“You’re such a nerd!”

Theodore huffed. “I’m an _Unspeakable_!”

They dressed quickly, well aware of the minutes ticking away, and by the time Neville apparated them to the ministry apparition site they were running twenty minutes late. They parted ways in the Entrance Chamber, Neville squeezing his hand once before letting go which brought a, now familiar, rush of warmth to Theodore’s chest.

When he stepped into the office he was greeted by the sound of slow, sarcastic clapping. Foster was leaning back in his chair, on foot up on the desk, and the other somewhere curled under him. It looked awkward as all hell, but the older man pulled it off with his usual flair.

“I never thought I’d see the day!” Foster said loudly. “Here I am, five minutes late to work, expecting some sort of scathing Slytherin glare, and yet—and _yet_ !— _I_ am the first one to arrive. What could be so important, that little Teddy runs late for work?”

Theodore gave him his best—most _Slytherin_ —glare, while Foster’s light blue eyes raked him over with not a single hint of embarrassment.

“Wait… You _didn’t_ ! You were having _sex_!”

Theodore unlocked his desk drawer and retrieved the file he needed. He then emptied his pockets of the little smooth stones he’d grabbed back at the manor.

“This is priceless, I can’t wait to tell Ol’ Alda—” the man had a way with nicknames, Theodore was sure, “—that Teddy finally lost his virginity!”

 _That_ caused Theodore to splutter, dropping the bored facade he had maintained up to that point.

“How the _hell_ —you don’t know I was a—a _virgin_!”

“ _Everyone_ knew you were a virgin, silly Teddy. All the Unspeakble’s have a pool going. I lost, by the way, and thank you _very_ much. But I was pretty sure you were going to end up an old cat lady.”

“ _That_ was your bet,” Theodore asked, his voice going high pitched and croakey, “that I would be an old cat lady?!”

Foster pouted at him instead of answering. The older man was caught completely unawares when Theodore chucked one of his rocks at him as hard as he could manage. Unfortunately for Foster, Theodore got lucky with his aim, and the little pebble struck him right in the throat.

“OUCH! HNG!” Foster gasped for air. “Shit... Nott! What the fuck?!” the older man had jumped so hard when the stone hit, that his precarious position on the balancing chair was lost to gravity and he’d crashed to the ground.

“Stay out of my personal affairs, Foster,” he said cooly, and settled back at his desk, clearing a large space and setting one of the smooth stones on the far left. The rest, he kept in a little pile of to one side.

“Fuck! That was harder than Haralda hits, and she’s got a mean streak a mile wide.”

Theodore ignored him.

He opened the file to his page of notes, and glared at the spells he thought might work. 

“Get over here, Foster.”

“Why? So you can abuse me some more?”

“Unless it’s escaped your notice, I can’t use a wand, otherwize you would have been hit with something far more damaging than a little rock. I need you to help me test out these spells. Now get your wand out and get over here.”

Muttering something about how Theodore expected him to do anything after being such a dick, Foster complied.

“This one,” Theodore said, pointing at one of the spells.

“ _ Move Spatium, _ ” Foster chanted, swirling his wand at the stone in the same motion the body took when apparition occurred. Nothing happened. Theodore wrote down some notes.

“ _ Move Spatium _ ,” Foster said, ending the swirl with a little jab. Nothing happened. Theodore wrote some more.

“ _ Move Spatium _ ,” Foster commanded, swirling and lifting. The stone wriggled. They both made noises of excitement, and Theodore scribbled happily. Foster summoned his chair over, and continued the work with more vigor.

Theodore’s delight was tangible, and his enthusiasm for the project grew, as each small success told him he was going in the right direction.

The rest of the morning continued in the same way. He regularly refilled his teacup with hot water from a thermos he’d brought, and a new tea bag while Foster performed series after series of numerous failed tests, with a few in between that showed promise. This was Theodore’s favorite part of being an Unspeakable. His job was really just a playing field for wizards and witches to question and  _ create _ ! Almost every project was devoted to either figuring out the mechanics behind something that already existed, or creating something that didn’t. It was a way to explore and invent! And there were  _ so _ many things magic could do, things he never would have dreamed of until he landed a job  _ here _ , where secrets were kept from the rest of wizardkind. Because the raw numerical  _ power _ behind what magic could do could be used for great destruction, but  _ here _ it was used to fabricate entirely new realms of witchcraft.

Foster had just managed to get one rock to pop briefly out of existence before appearing in the exact same place it was before, when the Head Unspeakable appeared, with a pair of aurors standing solidly behind him.

Theodore and Foster both stood in deference to their superior the instant they noticed him.

“Unspeakable Foster,” the Head Unspeakable said quietly. He was old, older than Albus Dumbledore had ever lived to be. In fact, he quite looked like an older, shorter version of the legendary headmaster of Hogwarts. 

“Sir?” Foster asked, all traces of his normally childish behavior gone.

“Come to my office. We have some questions for you.”

Foster hurried around the desk, only to be met with a highly irate look from the Head Unspeakable. Theodore didn’t think the aurors could look more bland if they tried. 

“For Merlin’s sake, Foster. Lock up your Confidential first!”

Foster ran over to the desk on his side of the room and did so, looking pale, and Theodore’s sympathies went out to him. 

“Right, come with me, then,” and Foster was led from the room, leaving Theodore alone in the office. He was filled with curiosity and questions, not that it would do him any good. He brought the tea to his mouth and drank deeply, worry for his co-worker and eagerness for his return battling inside him. Regardless of Foster’s fate, he couldn’t continue with the stone experiments without his co-worker. He put the stones and file to the side and withdrew an old materials checklist he had yet to finish. Dreadfully dull as it was sure to be, Theodore set to work.


	11. Chapter 11

*

Sometimes Neville forgot how scary Unspeakable Belby could be. Like now, when he was busy jumping out of his skin because the portly wizard had somehow crept up behind him and laid a heavy, moist hand on his shoulder, close enough to his neck, that some skin-on-skin contact was going on in the vicinity of his collar. It was basically one of the most disgusting things ever.

Neville stepped to the side, and Belby wormed forward into the space presented, hand thankfully dropping from its position. 

“Yes?” he asked politely.

“What are you doing?” Belby asked, trembling lips dropping each word into the silence of the too-large room.

“Ah, right. Well, as you can see, I’ve managed to harvest some of the pods off of Nellie,” Neville thought ruefully of his whiplashed forearms. Since the incident where his pinkie had been nearly severed, he’d been sure to wear thick, dragonhide gloves around the volatile plant, but her razor sharp vines were adept at slicing through the thin cloth of his robes, and she still drew blood far too often for comfort. “Right now, I’m categorizing the level of violence we can expect from each part of the plant. As you can see—” he held up a handful of beans from inside the pods, “—she has vastly different levels of ferocity.”

Belby examined the beans with interest. The were snuggling up together in the cup of Neville’s palm. Small, soft, and furry, they reminded him of little mice, shivering and purring and nuzzling to find warmth and comfort. Belby withdrew his wand and poked one curiously. The little green bean squeaked and rolled away, presenting some of its siblings as a sacrifice to the tip of Belby’s wand. 

“Very interesting,” Belby murmured, rheumatic eyes fixed upon the beans with a greedy expression. “Such discord in temperament—and all inside the same species…”

His gaze bore into Neville’s eyes. “I will require ten of the most vicious parts of the plant, along with ten of these beans. Discord and harmony, the perfect balance to a perfect puzzle…”

Neville grimaced at the request. The most vicious part of Nellie was undoubtedly her vine ends, and they would be absolute _ hell _ to harvest. Not to mention she protected her pods with motherly vigour. He was sure to be covered in injuries by the end of the day. Funnily enough, the reason he was here at all was because Nellie actually  _ did _ like him… or at least liked him better than anyone else. She’d nearly killed one of the apprentices that got too close before Neville started putting shields around her. Well, he could always ‘accidentally’ reveal his injuries to Theodore. He could always do with more of the brunette’s attention. He’d certainly had it this morning when he’d walked into the kitchen nearly starkers. The thought made him grin predatorily. He quietly let down a section of Nellie’s blue spell shield, preparing to meet the beast.

*

Theodore was bored. And he was all alone. These were two situations which should not be combined. He’d filled out three separate checklists, two of which weren’t due for another four months, and all of which had been dull as frogspit. 

Which led to him digging through all the drawers in his desk until he found all the trash and odds and ends that lay within. It was the spool of string that first caught his attention. And mother of everything holy was he bored when he dragged that string from corner to corner and started tying bits of it of to shit, purely to annoy his office mate. The spool was seemingly unending, and by the time he realized he’d created a giant fucking spider web of string, it still wasn’t even half unwound. And since he’d managed to make a pretty kick ass spider web, it needed a spider, which he made out of parchment and black ink and candlewax with two small stones and two medium stones for eyes, and now he couldn’t move. Because if he tried to go anywhere it would ruin his  _ masterpiece _ , and if he ruined it, then he wouldn’t be able to show Foster! 

Well aware he was acting like an attention mongering child seeking praise, Theodore sat on the floor, trapped in his own creation. He reached around a line of string, and under Foster’s desk to retrieve a piece of chalk he noticed sticking out behind a desk leg, and started doodling on the floor. He glared at the clock, feeling massive amounts of pity for his fellow Unspeakable. His doodles ended up dissolving into more theorems and equations, working along a tangent that kept his mind busy. Repeatedly, he had to wipe the chalk away from the floor and then continue when the floor space became too little.

He became so caught up in what he was doing that he didn’t even hear the long-awaited arrival of his coworker, until—

“What the  _ fuck _ ?!”

Theodore’s head snapped up so fast he could swear he got whiplash. Foster was standing just outside the doorway, looking inside with acute disbelief. He slowly edged inside and  _ twanged _ one of the strings nearest the door.

“What have you done to our office, Nott?”

Theodore had actually managed to forget the rats nest he’d turned the room into, after getting so caught up in his theory.

“Oh, yes. Whatever. I was bored. What’s really important is that I’ve found a way to apply the apparition equation to Bohl’s Portkey Foundation.”

“No. What’s  _ really  _ important is that I’ve had a  _ completely _ shitty day, and now I can’t even get to my desk!”

Theodore raised an eyebrow. “You’re a wizard, aren’t you? Use your wand?”

With perhaps more force than necessary, Foster banished the string web and super cool spider into oblivion. Then he sat at his desk with an audible  _ thump _ and an aggravated sigh. He glowered moodily for a few seconds, before saying, “Bohl’s Portkey Foundation? Really?”

For the next half hour, Theodore redrew all his work on the wall slate, while Foster nodded along with interest. By the time he was finished, Foster seemed to be in a far better mood than when he’d first returned, and Theodore felt okay to ask what had happened.

“I’m getting raked over the fucking coals is what happened! How many people do you know who’ve misplaced confidential material before. Hell, that’s how the Department of Mysteries works, things just go  _ missing _ sometimes and nobody can explain it. I’ve worked here for thirty-five years, and I can’t explain half the stuff in here!”

“I’ve lost confidential paperwork before,” Theodore agreed.

“Well they told me that if something like this ever happens again I’ll lose my job! Can you imagine?! An Unspeakable… fired! Unspeakables work down here until they fucking die! I’ve never heard of one  _ retiring _ , let alone getting  _ fired _ !”

“Why is it such a big deal?”

Foster slumped down a little in his chair. “Apparently the information on the missing paperwork, namely the apparition equation, is somehow tied into an ongoing auror investigation. That’s why those two aurors were with the Head Unspeakable. They’ve been questioning me for the last several hours, trying to determine whether I should be a  _ suspect _ in their case!”

“Which case is it?” Theodore asked him.

“I wouldn’t  _ fucking _ know. They were  _ exceptionally _ vague on that front!”

They sat in silence for a couple minutes while Theodore processed. 

“Well that’s shitty,” he finally said.

Foster nodded glumly.

Then, “you don’t think it has anything to do with… well, with the person after me?”

Foster thought about it for a minute, “I don’t… I don’t really see  _ how _ . What’s a guy that goes around…  _ smiting _ people… want with the apparition equation?”

“Right, right. It’s just the  _ timing _ of it all,” Theodore stressed.

“A lot of things have gone down in the last few days,” Foster agreed. “A  _ lot _ of  _ things _ . Such as our little undefiled Teddy here, finally losing his blossoming flower to the—”

Whatever else he was going to say was lost, as Theodore hurled the rest of his stones at the wizard. Foster, having anticipated retaliation, had ducked under his desk and now was heard emitting a chorus of loud sniggers.

Theodore would most likely have continued to accost the older wizard, using every muggle means at his disposal, had not a lavender interdepartmental memo buzzed in to seize his attention. He unfolded it while maintaining his cold glare on Foster, who kept peeking out from his desk.

_ T _

_ At Hogwart. Greenhose Trbl. Will send ptronus when able _

_ N _

It looked like it had been written with as much haste as a letter could show. The ink was horrifically smudged, and even besides the misspelled words, the letters were so hopelessly mangled that it was almost indecipherable. After recovering from his initial shock and worry, Theodore felt almost full to bursting with happiness that Neville had even taken the time—time it was obvious he didn’t have—to send a message to him. It meant he wouldn’t be wandering about the ministry wondering where Neville had gone off to and why he hadn’t at least gotten some form of goodbye kiss. He was unashamed to admit to himself that that is exactly what he would have done. How had he become so wrapped up in the handsome Gryffindor again? Oh right, he was in love. Of course.

“Hey Foster. Truce.”

“Awesome! What’s going on?”

“Can I stay at your house again tonight? Neville might be indisposable for some time.”

“Sure thing, I’ll send an own to Alda.”

Another interdepartmental memo, this one emerald green, zoomed in to land on Theodore’s desk.

“Popular, are we?” Foster asked with an overzealous eyebrow wriggle. He was ridiculous. A damn good Unspeakable, but ridiculous. 

Theodore opened it.

_ Mr. Nott, _

_ Unspeakable for the Ministry of Magic _

_ Your request to add Master Bedroom, Nott Manor, fireplace to the Floo Network has been accepted. Today, at 3:30pm we will add this fireplace to the ministry approved Floo Network, and you may begin its use immediately. Please conform to all safety and security standard when using the floo. A pamphlet has been attached for your education. _

_ Department of Magical Transportation _

_ Floo Network Authority _

Theodore disposed of the letter and pamphlet in the bin.

“Foster?”

“Yes?”

“I won’t be needing to stay in your guest room after all. They’re to connect the fireplace in my late father’s room the the Network today,” he explained.

“What a shame,” Foster’s face crinkled as he thought. “At least come for dinner. Alda adores you and we’re having lamb chops and pumpkin soup… Don’t look so surprised, you can’t be Teddy the Hermit forever!”

“Well,” Theodore said, flustered. “Well, I—”

“Just accept the invitation.”

“Very well, I accept.”

“So formal,” Foster grinned. “Floo over at six.”

They only had fifteen minutes until the work day was over, but after Foster left, Theodore stayed late to complete the deductions he’d made concerning the variances in the portkey vs apparition equations. Math sometimes made the world seem limitless to Theodore. Even after he locked everything up, it was only to floo away with numbers still on his mind.

Crawling out of the much smaller fireplace in his father’s bedroom was not particularly enjoyable. He  _ hated _ this room.  _ Hated _ it! It was darker and gloomier and more cobwebbed than any other space in the manor and the bedroom was literally  _ steeped _ in the acidic feel of his father’s magic, magic that had spent countless sessions wracking through his body in one or another form of punishment for perceived crimes. He hurried from the room and called for Albho who appeared moments later, a purr already rumbling through the feline. Theodore picked him up and carried the comforting, warm weight close to his chest as he hurried back to the comfort of his own room. The sight of the rumpled pillow where Neville had laid his head the night before eased the last of the tension from his frame, and he prayed to Morgana that the builders would be able to restore the wall and fireplace in the manor’s destroyed master study when they arrived on Saturday. Having to rely on his father’s room as a floo transit was going to agitate him unnecessarily every time he had to go somewhere. Four more days until the builders come, he reminded himself. Five more days until he could use magic safely. 

“Being a muggle sucks,” he told Albho. The kneazle gave a sort of rumbling purr that Theodore took as agreement. He didn’t have much time before he was supposed to go to Foster’s, so after loading up Albho’s tin with some more ham and a few hopeful carrots (Milicent Bulstrode’s cat had fucking  _ loved _ carrots) he changed into a pair of slacks, a wrinkled white button-down, and a grey wizard’s cloak. 

Time was working against him, and he unhappily re-entered his father’s suite, threw in some floo powder, and crouched and shuffled his way inside the fireplace until he could call out, “house of Abraham Foster” and then the flames whooshed him away past all the rapidly spinning fireplaces until he was  _ spat _ out of the right one. Theodore knew some wizards and witches ( _ cough, mudboods, cough _ ) had a hard time landing gracefully after any form of wizarding transportation. He, like most ( _ proper _ ) wizards had been taught how to floo successfully from a very young age. He shuddered to think of what his father would have done had he ever stumbled out from the floo like some sort of sprawling bumpkin.

He stepped easily out of the floo with all the grace of a pureblood. 

“That you, Theodore?” Haralda’s voice called from further inside. 

“Yes, it’s me,” he said back, talking loudly to cover the noise of kitchen bustle.

He walked until he found Haralda in the kitchen. Her dark braid had not a single strand out of place, and the sleeves of her brown robe were rolled up. Her hands worked deftly, one wielding a wand, the other a spatula, that she used to turn several heavily herbed hunks of lamb meat. Above the kitchen fire was a medium sized cauldron filled with a bright yellow concoction. The smells in the kitchen identified it as the unmistakeable aroma of the pumpkin soup Foster had promised earlier. Everything smelled amazing, and it made Theodore’s mouth water. 

“Hello Theodore,” Haralda greeted him. She stood still in the center of the magically self-completing cooking going on so she could look him in the eye when she spoke. “These lamb chops are going to be done in another couple minutes, so why don’t you head into the dining room and help Abe set up. He’s probably done fussing over which color napkins to use by now.”

He laughed, and then turned to the dining room. Haralda must have had some sort of sixth husband sense, because Foster was in fact just putting some blue napkins back into a the drawer of a white china cabinet.

Some cherry red napkins were on stacked on the lip of the cabinet, and Foster grabbed them before turning around. “Teddy! So glad you could make it!”

“Glad to be here,” Theodore replied, after grimacing over the nickname, and he really meant it. He’d grown, dare he say it,  _ used _ to having people more constantly in his life in the last week. Staying with the Fosters, and later staying with Neville… it had relaxed him in a way he didn’t know he needed until it happened. And after getting the memo from Neville earlier, he hadn’t been looking forward to a night alone in the too-large manor with only Albho for company.

“So what happened to make your man unavailable?” Foster asked, pointing Theodore to the silverware.

*

Holy motherfucking shit! Merlin Bloody fuck! If he survived this, Neville was going to  _ murder _ Hagrid. The Forbidden Forest was dangerous enough without putting even  _ more _ ferocious…  _ abominations _ in it!

Neville dodged a vine of Devil’s Snare as it flailed violently at him. The vine smacked against the door to Greenhouse Six and immediately wrapped around it, pulling the squealing door off its hinges… and now the Devil’s snare had a huge hunk of wood which it was tossing about. Lovely.

Professors ran about the grounds around the destroyed Greenhouse Seven. At least three of them were grouped around the savagely writhing  _ Blast-Ended Skrewt _ that still managed to give off bursts of explosive sparks from its ends. The thing was  _ gigantic _ ! And it had been living in the Forest since the  _ Triwizard Tournament _ ?! Killing Hagrid was definitely a priority. 

Or maybe he had different priorities, Neville corrected, erecting a shield hastily as the Venomous Tentacula spat toxins from somewhere within the rubble of  _ his _ greenhouse. His beautiful, orderly greenhouse… that was now in shambles.

One of the witches attempting to subdue Hagrid’s  _ monstrosity _ screamed in pain, distracting Neville for the space of a second. Then he was adding his own yell of agony to the cacophony as flames burst to life in front of him, no doubt fired from the Fever Bluebell, and seared a horrible heat up his outstretched arms. 

“ _ Aguamenti _ ,” Neville hissed at the ground, adding the stream of water from his spell to join the dozen other water-making spells directed toward the various fires on the grounds.

There was an ominous groaning noise from the debris of Greenhouse Seven. No one paid any heed to the noise, lost as it was in the din of other sounds—no one but Neville, that is. He recognized the sound of creaking wood and shifting branches for what it was.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he swore emphatically. The sapling Whomping Willow he’d ( _ illegally _ ) grown had woken.

*

“These are delicious. The soup was good too, but  _ wow _ . Do you think I could get the recipe before I leave?”

“You cook?” Haralda asked.

“I’m a bachelor,” Theodore answered, as if that explained everything.

After that, followed a long discussion that practically mirrored Theodore’s previous conversation with Neville about bachelors and cooking abilities. By the end of it, the lamb had all been eaten, Haralda had left and come back with copies of a few of her ‘favorite’ recipes, and the topic had veered into talk about Theodore’s would-be killer.

“Some crazy nut-job, out for revenge!” Abraham Foster insisted.

“I wouldn’t doubt whoever it is being deranged,” Haralda added. “It’s a sad fact that not only the Death Eaters in Azkaban lost their minds after the war, but some of the light wizards and witches lost their minds as well. Loss. Torture. Grief. Capture. So many things about war change men in profound ways.”

A heavy silence descended on the table after her statement. The war was fresh, and everyone had lost someone. Civil wars were always the most painful, pitting friend against friend, and in some cases brother against brother. Even the loss of his father, whom Theodore had  _ hated _ for most of his life, hurt. When Nott Senior had died, Theodore had lost the very last of his family and had been truly alone. And loneliness is painful.

“Well that’s enough depression for one night, I think,” Mr Foster said briskly, rubbing his hands together. “I’m well fed, and I’ve had a pretty  _ long _ day. And I might still get fired, who knows? I’m off to bed. Alda and I got your kneazle a little present though, before you go.” The salt and pepper haired wizard waved his wand lazily and  _ Accioed  _ a bag from behind the dining room door. 

“It’s just some cat treats we got this weekend, oh! And a wind-up mouse toy Alda thought was funny… Do tell the furball we expressly  _ don’t _ miss him.” Theodore rifled through the bag and gave several pleased noises as Foster talked.

“Feel free to visit whenever you want, Theodore,” Haralda added as she tossed some floo powder into the fire.

“I will, thank you. And thanks again for dinner. I had a really nice evening.” He stepped into the floo and was whisked away from the serenely smiling Haralda and her madly waving husband.

When he clambered out the other end, Albho was there to greet him, and he scooped the comforting animal into his arms as he hurried out of the domineering room.

The kneazle had such a soothing rumble, and his long white fur was amazingly soft and warm. He took them both to the library and got the cat toy out of the bag. For the next half-hour or so, Theodore wound the mouse toy and played at keeping his fingers away from Albho’s sharp teeth and needle-like claws. Periodically, he would glance at the enormous grandfather clock which stood against the far wall. By Nine O'Clock he was feeling much more than the dull worry he’d gotten when he first received Neville’s missive; it had evolved into a jagged, spiked thing that skewered into his chest each time the second hand ticked and no silver patronus appeared.

Albho was asleep on his legs, and when Theodore moved him, he received several pinpricks as claws extended in reproach. The white kneazle then tucked his nose back under his tail and no more complaints were noted. Theodore wiped the hairs off his slacks just to give his hands something to do while he gathered himself and returned to the quiet of his father’s room. In the dark, it was much more foreboding, and the shadowy echoes of his father’s dark, lean figure stood in every inky corner where shadows gathered and memories resurfaced. He brought up a candle, for the ashes of the fire were burnt low enough that it was hard to see in the room, which just insured that each flickering shadow was even more… spooky was the only way to describe it.

He fed twigs and sticks to the little hot coals beneath the ash until the flames began to lick up the wood. Without wasting another moment, he threw in the pinch of floo powder and, as calmly as he could, said, “Hog’s Head Inn.”

Aberforth stomped out from the office-space behind the bar to give him the evil eye as he stepped out. “What are you doing, boy?” the old wizard asked, light blue eyes unsettling.

“I—I’ve,” Theodore stammered, “I’ve got to get to Hogwarts.”

“Heard about the trouble, have you?”

The blithe response completely shocked him. Sure, he’d known from Neville’s memmo that  _ something _ had required his immediate attention, but  _ trouble _ ? It was enough to have him running out the door without responding to the question. Outside, the darkness was almost overwhelming. The moon had waned to nothing, and the stars were little pinpricks of soft light in the black. The only real light came from whichever Hogsmeade buildings kept candles lit in their windows. Normally, he would have picked his way carefully up the road, or at least cast a lumos to see. But he had a worried knot in his stomach and he couldn’t use his wand so he  _ ran _ and hoped that he wouldn’t stumble over any potholes in the road. His feet pounded on the trodden dirt terrain, and his cloak flared out behind him in the quiet night.

As he turned on the road to Hogwarts, he could already see the dancing patterns of red and orange flames casting shadows on the castle walls.  He couldn’t hear any noise but as he bolted forward, the thin beginnings of sound came to him, muffled by distance. First came the odd shout, and even once a high scream. The closer he got, the more he could hear the crackle of flames, and the hiss of water turning to steam as attempts were made to douse the fires. And there was also a pretty persistent thudding, ripping, groaning noise, and then he came flying up the path and over a small crest in the rise and he could finally see what was happening.

The first thing that happened was he came skidding to a halt, because Neville,  _ his _ Neville was on display. Beautiful, powerful, he wielded his wand like a sword and stood like a general at the head of battle. All around him was chaos, the burning of debris, the glinting light of fire reflected off of hundreds of shards of grass. Off to the side, and barely registered, he saw the dying throes of a fucking  _ monster _ -sized Blast-Ended Screwt, with a group of witches and wizards bearing down around it. But all of those were mere distractions from the center of the battle, where Neville faced down the smoldering wreckage of a greenhouse, and the  _ seriously _ pissed off plants contained inside. On Neville’s right, the creeping vines of Devil’s Snare curled in on themselves in a knotted, twisting ball, surrounded by a wizard-made circle of purple flames. To his right, a very large Venomous Tentacula loomed over the tall Gryffindor, and Theodore almost felt faint to look at the deadly plant until it became apparent that it was completely under Neville’s command. In fact, the Venomous Tentacula was using it’s poison-filled vines to intimidate the smaller plants into submission, and was rounding them up off to one side. 

The heart of the battle was right in front of Neville, where a miniature Whomping Willow was sowing its destruction on everything its club-like branches could reach. While Theodore watched, the tree swung one branch, sweeping low on the ground, and scattering sharp fragments of glass in a glittering arc. Neville erected a hasty shield, which managed to cover his head and torso, but he could see the glass shred through the edges of Neville’s robes, and no doubt inbed in some of his lover’s flesh as well. The Herbology Professor didn’t flinch, but continued to bear down on the sapling tree. Theodore crept closer, well aware that there was nothing he could do without a wand besides get in the way, or put himself in danger. 

Besides, Neville really looked as though he had it well in hand, and quite a few of the wizards and witches stood around were also looking at the Gryffindor with no small amount of awe. He looked… he looked magnificent. Tall, strong, and in command. Theodore was aware that some of those that knew Neville viewed him as nothing more than a soft, kindhearted man. And Neville  _ was  _ that, but those people had obviously never seen the Professor like _ this _ . Grinning madly, hair a tangled mop of sweaty curls, his eyes flashing, thick muscles tense and ready, blood and sweat dripping down his arms. Merlin he was so fucking  _ sexy _ !

Theodore inched even closer (probably a bad idea) and felt a wave of magic hit him. This was magic he knew  _ intimately _ for it had danced and lingered over his skin and mixed with his own when he’d been tied to his lover in shared pleasures. But this! Oh, sweet Merlin,  _ this _ ! Raw, unbound magic, spiralling out of the man at the epicenter of it all. Thick and rolling, and the power filtered through him and bathed him in its foreign presence and he could hear the low, heady timber of Neville’s voice but couldn’t understand the words as magic surrounded him and  _ cherished _ him. It gave him some of its own strength and took some of his, and that was the moment Neville looked to his side wildly and  _ saw _ him! 

‘Theodore,’ the blonde mouthed without words. Then Neville’s eyes narrowed and he faced the Whomping Willow once again. Theodore felt the magic pull away from him abruptly and swayed with the shock, but the magic was by now an almost  _ visible _ thing. Pure energy that radiated in a focused whorl and all of it aimed at the sapling tree. Around them, the battle had ground to a halt, the Screwt was dead, and any attention not focused on Neville was spent on Cleansing and Banishing Charms and putting out the rest of the fires. 

The midsized Whomping Willow shuddered, and fought and lashed out, but Theodore could see it was also slowly bending and submitting, as though gravity had become too much for it. One more focused flare of magic came pouring out of Neville, who roared loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I AM YOUR  _ MASTER! _ You will  _ yield _ !”

The words sent a jolting tingle from Theodore’s neck to his toes, and he swore he’d never seen another man so magnificent. The tree gave a final shiver and went mercifully still. Neville slumped where he stood, and the Venomous Tentacula used one of its feeler vines the brush the hair away from his forehead. He then straightened, spurred on by some greater strength and ushered for Madam Pomfrey to step forward with a bundle of cloth and splints floating behind her. 

Theodore fell to the ground where he stood, sitting on the cool grass and feeling the chill of earth counter the heat rolling through his body in response to being so close to his lover’s intensity. Neville looked over at him once and gave him a tired sort of smile before returning his focus to bandaging and splinting the broken branches of the Whomping Willow. Tender care and affection lined every move he made and it was stunning to Theodore how mere moments before, he had been purely intent on  _ forcing _ the tree into submission, but now each and every action held such softness. And it was completely and utterly stupid to be jealous of a  _ tree _ , but it was what it was! And he was jealous. 

It was probably nearing on one in the morning by the time everyone had finished cleaning the wreckage and relocating the plants. Theodore had been snapped at several times by grouchy professors to ‘stop getting in the way!’ The Whomping Willow sapling sulked unhappily with many of its branches elevated and cradled with swathes of fabric.

Neville slumped gracelessly against a castle wall, eyes following Theodore as he picked his way over. 

“That was incredible,” he told the Gryffindor when he was close enough. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so hot in my life.”

This earned a little huff of laughter, and Neville reached out a heavy arm and dragged him to stand chest to chest. He smelled of sweat and blood and dirt and it was heady. Most of Neville’s smaller cuts, scrapes and burns had been healed with minor  _ Episkeys _ , but there were a couple of bandaged areas and Theodore ran his touch lightly over them. 

“You should go home, Neville. They don’t need you here any more.” It was true, wizards and witches were sleepily wandering away, either back toward the castle, or off the grounds where they could apparate.

Neville leaned forward and rubbed their foreheads together slowly, smearing a sheen of sweat into Theodore’s forehead, not that he cared. “Why’d you come?” 

“I was worried about you,” Theodore said, unashamed.

“So  _ cute _ ,” Neville muttered blearily. “I don’t wanna go home.”

“Well you’ve got—”

“I don’t want to go home  _ alone _ …”

“Oh.” Theodore felt a blush beginning to form, and shoved the warmth away quickly. “Well, you can come to the manor then. But you’re certainly not apparating anywhere, you look like you’re about to fall over. We’ll take the floo.”

They followed a trickling trail of the odd wizard or witch walking unsteadily to the hospital wing, Neville leaning heavily on Theodore’s shoulders the entire time. Madam Pomfrey was already there, watching those who left through the floo with a shrewd eye, as if she wanted nothing more than to force them into a bed and shove potions down their throats. Neville gave her a sleepy two-fingered salute which she pursed her lips at before Theodore pushed him into the floo. 

“Nott Manor,” Neville grumbled and was whisked away.

Theodore followed behind, leaving a couple minute break in case Neville had trouble with the small fireplace.

When he exited, Neville was lying on the floor, barely awake. 

“Come  _ on _ , Neville. My room’s only a couple doors down, and you  _ really _ don’t want to stay in here.”

Neville cracked an eye, “it’s a pretty shite room,” he agreed.

He managed to get the lumbering man to his feet and they stumbled out the door and down the hallway, Neville nearly crushing him when he reached out to turn the knob on his own door. He dragged Neville over to the bed, and the Gryffindor collapsed on top of the covers, face down and breathing deep. One last shove had the large man rolling over onto his back, where Theodore could work at the buttons of his robes. They were a mess, singed and ripped and covered in all sorts of muck.

He unbuttoned the very nice, large buttons of the  _ ruined _ robes, and pulled them off of Neville’s shoulders, easing the rest of the bunched up material out from under his back. Next to go were Neville’s boots and socks, and then finally his trowsers. By this point, Neville was snoring, and it felt—it felt oddly  _ good _ to be taking care of him like this. Theodore retrieved a cloth and a bowl of warm water from the bathroom, and the touch of the warm wet cloth roused Neville a little. Enough so that he turned over again when Theodore prompted him so the Slytherin could wipe of his back as well. Each slow glide of the cloth over the broad shoulders and thick muscles had him smiling, and he couldn’t resist pressing a chaste kiss here and there to the smooth back, especially when the cloth caught on one small wound or another that Pomfrey had missed. He ran the cloth down Neville’s amazing fucking  _ viking  _ legs, and even wiped down the soles of each foot which elicited a tiny squirm.

Once Neville was clean—well,  _ cleaner _ , he tossed the cloth back into the bowl of water, now dirty and pinkish, and took them both back to the bathroom where he indulged in a quick shower, mainly to get the smoke smell off. Neville was completely out when he returned and crawled into bed next to the Gryffindor. He surprised himself with how much he found himself looking forward to other nights like this. Nights where maybe Neville came home to him, or he came home to Neville, and they just fell asleep next to each other. The warmth from the man next to him heated his side and he smiled into the night, before leaning over to blow out the candle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter to date! But I really liked writing this one. It really allowed me to broaden my (J.K. Rowling's) character's personalities, I thought.


	12. Chapter 12

Theodore had some sort of inner alarm clock that was supremely determined to completely  _ ruin _ his day. He should have been able to lie in his nice, big, warm bed next to his nice, big, warm boyfriend until sometime later than the  _ ungodly _ hour of… a faint chiming rung through the manor and Theodore counted silently. Six o’bloody  _ clock _ ! What the devil did he do to deserve this? And he was  _ so _ awake. Absolutely no way he was going back to sleep! His mind was already buzzing with numbers and something about runes was edging into the back of his thoughts, urging him to go! Go and do! So bloody  _ annoying! _

By his side, Neville gave small, snuffling snores into his pillow. A thin line of drool connected his soft lips to the linen, and his face was smooshed up like a newborn baby. In that moment, Theodore would have sold his soul for a camera.

He groaned dejectedly, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. Best to get this sort of thing over with quickly. Cold, cold,  _ cold _ ! Wooden floors hit bare feet, and he hurried the few steps over to the carpet, casting a glance around for his slippers before remembering that he’d left them in the library. The  _ very _ worst sort of day. It was decided! He would have  _ Accioed _ them, except, wait, no magic allowed! Which also applied to his toast, which he would have to do the  _ muggle  _ way by flipping it over on a buttered pan. Or did they have some sort of fancy muggle gizmo for that sort of thing? They really did come up with the most ridiculous contraptions to try to make their lives easier.  _ Magic _ could make their lives a little easier, but the silly sods didn’t even  _ believe _ in magic let alone have it running through their veins!

Screw the toast. He’d buy something from that annoyingly sympathetic woman who worked at the Atrium Cafe. Wrinkled robes? Check. Socks for cold feet? He sighed blissfully, sheck. Ruddy useless wand? Check. A super adorable boyfriend?

Theodore allowed himself one last creeper look at him, lying there with his battered arm raised above the blanket and shoved partly under the pillow. It looked as though the worst of the battle hadn’t managed to get as his face, because other that a curl of burnt hair, Neville looked none the worse for wear. He looked handsome as ever, even with the drool and the snores. Theodore leaned over and kissed the his forehead softly. Then he got out parchment and a quill and jotted off a quick letter, being sure to explain all that had happened after he’d gotten Neville to the manor. The large man had been so out of it, Theodore would be surprised if he remembered a thing!

In the bathroom he relieved himself and then brushed his teeth, ignoring the mirror when he stood in front of it to shave.

“If you’re going to wear wrinkled robes, at least brush your hair before you leave!”

He didn’t want to leave, but he didn’t really have an excuse to skip work other than, ‘Neville’s in my  _ bed.’ _ And now that he thought about it, that was a pretty fucking good reason. But the Department of Mysteries was calling to him, and as much as he loved Neville, he really loved what he did as well. He cast the sleeping Gryffindor one last fond look before walking out the bedroom, only putting his shoes on once he closed the door. 

“ _ Meow! _ ”

“Right. Food. Food for Albho. I can do that.”

He took a turn down to the kitchen, where he saw that Albho had wholeheartedly ignored the carrots, but devoured the meat. Getting a rabbit out of the cold box (he liked a good rabbit stew every now and then) he put the whole skinned thing down on Albho’s plate to the Kneazle’s yowl of delight. As an afterthought, he quickly cut up some yellow squash and put several cubes on the edge of Albho’s tin. The kneazle gave him one of those looks that only feline’s can give. The kind of look that says, “I only put up with this shit because you feed and pet me.”

Theodore stroked down Albho’s back a couple of times before gearing up to enter  _ that   _ room. Before he left the kitchen he refilled his thermos with water. He’d make Foster cast a Heating Charm at it later. Then he briskly went up the stairs again, peeked in at Neville who hadn’t moved an inch, and entered his father’s room. One floo trip later and he was moving over to the woman at the Atrium Cafe. She smiled brightly at him as he handed over a couple knuts. 

“Chelsea bun, please.”

“You doing well, Mr. Nott?” she asked.

Wary that if he refused to answer her inane question she would refuse to hand over his breakfast, Theodore nodded slightly and forced a smile to briefly cover his face. For once she seemed to believe him, as she positively  _ beamed _ joy at him. He had to wonder how someone could find so much happiness doing such a boring job. Well, he thought haughtily, talent isn’t given to everyone.

He quickly made his way to the lifts, munching the Chelsea bun as he went. It was better than expected, with large amounts of cinnamon just the way he liked it. This got him thinking fondly of the cinnamon spice tea he had back in his desk. Yes, that was exactly what he wanted on a morning like this one... where he’d left a nearly naked boyfriend back at home in _ his _ bed.  _ Ugh _ , self pity was only for the weak, dammit!

But it  _ was _ nice to be at work in the early morning. There wasn’t so much of the noise and bustle that accompanied tardy employees rushing to get to their desks before Eight O’Clock struck. Into the lift, and then down nine floors. He thought he caught a glimpse of red hair from out the doors once, though whether it was in fact one of the Weasley brood he couldn’t say.

And then the calming reflective black stone, pretty much the focal piece for the Department of Mysteries surrounded him and he strode quickly through the door and into the Entrance Chamber, where he paused, before licking his finger and pressing it to cold granite and asking the room for a different door than usual. Across the circular room, a door glowed with white light and Theodore moved briskly to it. The door opened onto a long, dim hallway with several doors on either side spaced at large intervals. Theodore knew which room to go to, though he’d never had cause to do so before, and opened the door to Unspeakably Belby’s quarters. The overweight man was a genius, an inventor, and one of the best assets the Department had, but his personality and overall appearance were…  _ off-putting _ . 

Theodore was barely through the door, when Belby was in front of him, up-close, too personal, in his space. They were  _ sharing _ body heat. It was just… Neville had better appreciate what Theodore did for him.

“What are you doing here?” Belby asked quickly, moistly, each word layered with fathoms of distrust.

Theodore held himself up, and refused to flinch away from the other man’s large presence. “I’ve come to update you about Neville Longbottom. He was called away urgently yesterday?”

“Yes. Yes. And so?” Belby stepped closer, as though the closer he was to Theodore, the more his fat frame would hide the experiments behind him.

“He was engaged in extremely strenuous work until the early hours of morning and I wouldn’t be surprised if he arrives much later in the day.”

“Why didn’t he send me a note?” the heavy Unspeakable asked, and still his gaze held every ounce of distrust he could muster.

“I didn’t wake him up this morning, he exhausted himself pretty thoroughly last night”

Belby leaned back enough for Theodore to know that the man probably didn’t think too highly of the gay populace. “Fine, fine, now get out!” and one meaty hand gripped Theodore’s arm through his robes and directed him out of the room. Once the door had been shut with a loud  _ snap _ behind him, he gave in to the urge to rub at his arm where the fingers had grasped it. The man had  _ no _ sense of personal boundaries! Nor of general courtesy!

He huffed, alone in the hallway, and then turned to make his way back to his own office. He wouldn’t waste the entire morning!

Foster entered right before the work day officially started. 

“Morning, Nott? Can I have one of your teas?”

“Only if you heat my water,” Theodore answered without looking up from the chart spread in front of him, gesturing vaguely to the thermos on the edge of his desk. 

Foster rifled through his drawers before picking a simple green tea, and then cast the Heating Charm inside Theodore’s thermos. Taking a moment to steep his own tea, Theodore pulled out the cinnamon spice and poured the water into his teacup. 

“Have you ever met Unspeakable Belby?” he asked Foster.

Foster wrinkled his nose. “Nasty fellow.”

“I had the pleasure of meeting him this morning. Don’t know how Neville stands him.”

“ _ That’s _ who he’s working with?  How unfortunate.”

“It is,” Theodore agreed, but the topic seemed expired at this point. “Are you going to do some more practicals?” 

Foster groaned, and blew on his tea to delay the answer. “If I really  _ have _ to, but for the last two days I haven’t been able to get past the Shimmer-Pop stage…”

“I know.”

“It’s just frustrating sometimes. And I wish I could cast on something animate instead of pebbles and buttons! Oh, stop looking at me like that, Teddy! Go—Go do your maths or something!”

Theodore smiled a little and looked back down at the chart, getting out a compass to draw an intersecting curve where different thesis results had crossed over. Hopefully the finished chart would be able to help Foster along.

He spent the rest of the uneventful morning in much the same way. His side of the room was quiet, broken only by rustling paper, scratching quills, and the opening and shutting of various drawers. Foster’s side of the room was a  _ bit _ more lively with a muttered curse word here and there, and once, Foster had lost his temper and thrown a button at the wall with a sharp  _ plinking _ noise.

As time passed, Theodore became aware of the state of his rumbling stomach and mentally debated whether he should ask Foster for some of his food. He made up his mind after seeing that Foster had brought curry, which always gave him stomach cramps when he tried it. The chart was almost complete, anyway, and he refocused his attention on that and poured some hot water on top of some black tea. Black tea was filling, he’d even argue the point if he had to!

*

Neville woke up in a  _ really _ nice bed. It smelled all sorts of good… it smelled like… Theo?

He cracked an eye open and looked around.  _ Yes _ , he knew this bedroom. He’d had some pretty fantastic carnal explorations in this bedroom… in this incredibly…  _ bright _ bedroom. What time was it? He groped around for his wand before realizing it wasn’t in arms reach. Theodore had probably put it somewhere… along with the rest of his clothes— _ what _ ? Grumbling a little, he sat up in the large bed and looked around. The first thing he noticed was the folded piece of parchment perched primly on the other pillow.

_ Sleepy Neville,  _

_ I imagine you don’t remember much of last night (you were basically asleep from the moment we stepped through the floo) so it’s up to me to inform you of how you ended up mostly naked and in my bed.  You were so exhausted after that disaster at Hogwarts that I put you in bed as best I could. I took your robes and shoes off, and your robes are completely ruined, by the way. I folded them over the chair by the door, but if you want to enlarge some of my robes to wear, you can do that… or obviously you can just apparate to your cottage and grab some new ones. I don’t actually know why i’m telling you this, I’m sure you can figure out how to clothe yourself, after all… I got less than four hours of sleep but I’m riding on some kind of early morning high. I also wiped you down with a wet cloth because you were covered in sweat and blood and I honestly didn’t even feel you up—much. You’re probably still pretty gross though, as I left your undergarments in their proper place. You might look like a fucking god, Neville, but you were also unconscious and just… I’m dragging this out because I don’t want to leave you. So as for the state of your undress, don’t worry, your virtue was safe… for last night, that is. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite as fantasy inducing as you standing your ground and battling like a madman in the midst of all that chaos. Merlin, it’s got me feeling tight in my pants just thinking about it…  _

_ Having said that, you should  _ definitely _ bring me home after work… just a suggestion. Gorgeous bastard, all asleep and drooling. Wish you could see yourself. When you  _ do _ wake up, feel free to use the shower, since I didn’t get everywhere and I certainly didn’t use soap. New toiletries are in the linen closet behind the bathroom door. _

Anyway _ , the floo you arrived in is three doors down the hallway and to your right if you have need of it. Also, the first thing I’m going to do when I get to the DOM is talk to Unspeakable Belby to let him know you might not come in today, and I hope you appreciate this, because I hear he has a  _ highly _ unsavory reputation. Er, help yourself to any food and make yourself at home. Blah, blah, blah, all the meaningless niceties. I’m really just hoping you’ll miraculously wake up and fuck me already… but, you’re actually snoring so, _

_ I’ll see you at work! _

_ Theodore _

Neville had been laughing for a while now. The letter was priceless, and undoubtedly something he’d tease Theodore about over the years— _ years? _ … that was something he’d maybe think more about later. He just sounded so… perky could be a word to describe it… or  _ sexy _ . He kind of wished the Slytherin would be this free with his words  _ all  _ the time, but even what he’d written here was a positive sign for their relationship and it had him grinning happily.

He swung his legs over the bed and stretched a little, wincing when a couple of scabs pulled at the edges of his skin. But he felt good, kind of that fresh, rejuvenated feeling you get following a good sleep after overextending your body. 

He made use of Theodore’s shower, and took the time to  _ Episkey _ the little cuts that hadn’t been healed over last night. The larger wounds would still take a day or two to fully mend. Unfortunately, he would have a couple new burn scars on his arms from the Fever Bluebell. They would simply join the rest of the markings on his skin, skin so different from Theodore’s, whose body was already etched in his brain as something pure and flawless. Everything about the Slytherin just exuded… a sort of radiance, and aside from the almost invisible smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks, he had no other markings to his body. Thinking of Theodore made him hurry, wanting to see him sooner rather than later. He cast a  _ Scourgio _ at his bedraggled robe and his other garments, before deciding it was fairly useless to put them on for a single Apparition, then Apparated back home and changed into clean eobes. He took one quick pitstop in the kitchen, and then flooed to the Ministry of Magic.

*

“Neville!” It wasn’t a squeal—it  _ wasn’t _ !

“Theo,” and that low sexy rumble of a voice carried straight across the room and just about  _ melted _ into him. Neville held up a brown paper bag. “I brought some cucumber sandwiches if you’re interested?”

“I am  _ so  _ interested. Give me a sandwich right now!”

“So  _ demanding _ .”

“By all means, keep flirting!” Foster’s voice cut clearly into the little bubble the two of them had made. “Haralda’s hoarding information nuggets about young Teddy here like a Goblin hoards gold!”

Theodore and Neville exchanged an embarrassed look and Neville conjured a chair in front of his desk and sat in it. He handed over a sandwich, and cast a  _ Muffliato _ around them before saying, “thank you for letting me sleep in this morning.  Taking care of the greenhouse last night really wiped me out.”

“I don’t think I could have woken you if I wanted,” Theodore laughed. He held the sandwich in one hand, eating proper, bite sized amounts instead of inhaling it like he wanted to. “This is really good.”

“It’s just cucumber and cream cheese.” But Neville looked pleased. The Gryffindor unconsciously mimicked Theodore’s eating posture. It made him wonder if all Purebloods were taught etiquette out of the same guide; It was actually highly likely. Well, all Purebloods that were actually  _ taught  _ etiquette, Theodore amended, thinking of Crabbe and Goyle, and he’d seen some of the Weasley brood behave uncouthly on more than one occasion.

“Maybe I’m just hungry,” he teased.

“How was Belby when you talked to him this morning?”

Theodore shivered. “I have no idea how you can stand being in close quarters with him!”

“Well, typically I’m pretty close to Nellie and he stays away from her if he can help it.”

“That’s  _ one  _ strategy.” Theodore put on a pompous tone. “ _ How to avoid Unspeakable Belby’s clammy hands and muculent breath: Options one through twenty _ .”

Neville laughed, the sound lively, and his white teeth dazzled Theodore into responding with a goofily stupid smile of his own until he caught what he was doing and stopped. 

“I’d buy that handbook,” Neville said, still grinning. It was highly distracting, that smile. It made him want to do things like…  _ taste _ it. 

“Do they know where the Screwt came from?” he asked, grasping for a conversation starter, anything to stop him from reaching over the desk and pulling Neville’s gorgeous face in for a healthy snog right in the middle of the office!

“Well, I wasn’t good for much besides casting spells and subduing all the plants, but I heard a few things while we were battling. Apparently, that’s the same Blast-Ended Screwt the Champions faced during the Third Triwizard Task! Hagrid decided it would be the most  _ humane _ course to set the fucking thing wild in the forest. I wish to hell Harry had just killed the beast during the Task!”

“I’m pretty sure we all wish a lot of things went differently during that particular Task,” Theodore agreed and there was a moment of solemn silence. A remembering of the beginning of it all. The day the Dark Lord rose again.

Neville coughed. “So it comes barreling out of the Forest for no good reason and straight up  _ destroyed _ Greenhouse Seven—which is, of course, the greenhouse with the most dangerous, and by association most  _ valuable, _ plants. I don’t even want to think about what’s going to happen to the sapling…”

“That Whomping Willow you had in there?”

“Yeah,” Neville sighed heavily. “I shouldn’t have even been growing it, but no one but the professors are even allowed to enter Greenhouse Seven, so I figured, ‘what’s the harm?’ And it’s probably bloody  _ pulverised _ most of the plants close by. I’m just lucky we don’t keep the grown Mandrakes in there! Or unlucky… they might have killed the Screwt for us! But I feel pretty awful about the Whomping Willow. I might have to end up cutting it down as it’s quite possible it’s beyond saving.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well it’s information only Master Herbologists or anyone ridiculously interested in Herbology would ever know, but Whomping Willows don’t develop a Stopping Knot until they trust their Grower. As I was this Whomping Willow’s Grower, it was up to me to gain its trust, but after last night I’m not sure if that’s going to be very attainable. I don’t know if I’ll even be  _ able _ to chop it down either. We’ve already grown a pretty big bond—I dunno, maybe I can replant it somewhere wild.”

“Stopping knot?” Theodore asked curiously. He took another bite of the cucumber sandwich. 

“Yeah. It’s when the tree trusts you enough to purposefully drop one of its branches. The knot in the bark that is created becomes a sort of… weak point for the tree. If you can get close enough to tap it, or you hit it with a rock or a stick or something, then the entire tree will freeze for a few minutes.”

“That’s actually really neat! Does the Hogwarts Whomping Willow have one?”

“Well, the answer to  _ that _ question is a Hogwart’s secret,” Neville said mysteriously.

“Dull. You can tell me, I’m an Unspeakable. That makes me just about the best person to ever tell a secret to!”

Neville smiled at him, only it was one of those annoying smiles adults give children when they’re about to deny candy from them. Theodore scowled ferociously.

“I liked your letter,” Neville changed the subject abruptly. 

Theodore had managed to completely forget about writing the letter, and that, coupled with the way Neville was now leering at him forced up a blush that stained his cheeks pink.

Neville’s voice grew darker, and he locked gazes with Theodore in a way that made it impossible to look away. “Now, I  _ fully _ expect you to have this desk cleared and you yourself ready to leave the moment the shift is over. Because I intend to take you home, Theo, and I won’t wait a  _ second _ longer than I have to.”

Theodore’s mouth was dry and he could feel interested twitches under his trowsers as heat travelled to his crotch. Unsurprising really, with the way Neville had innuendo layered thickly over every syllable, and that rich voice smoothed over his mind while Hazel eyes caressed his face. He wasn’t really aware of nodding, but Neville looked pleased, and leaned over the desk to give him a quick peck on the mouth. He returned it automatically, half of his mind descending into a spiral of images out of his wank fantasies, while the other half desperately built walls around said images and tried to get him back under control and out of his pants. Neville crumpled up the now-empty brown bag and threw it in the bin, then dismantled the  _ Muffliato _ and exited the room.

Theodore was left breathless and heavily aroused, an increasingly more common predicament.

 


	13. Chapter 13

What was the point of even trying to concentrate on work again, when Neville had blown his mind open until all he could think about was sex and all he could do was sit bonelessly and drool. After Neville took down the  _ Muffliato _ and left, Foster had made increasingly lewd comments and cheeky innuendos, each comment becoming more and more graphic as it became apparent that Theodore had lost his wits and was unable to answer. He simply couldn’t hear, mind consumed with a heady hum of arousal that drowned out all of reality’s noises.

“—or maybe you’re the kinky type? Right, Teddy? Got a bit of a thing for leather? And Neville came in here now to tell you he’s just bought a new  _ toy _ ?”

Finally Foster’s words began to filter through the haze surrounding his thoughts and he stared the man down, carefully schooling his face into an expression devoid of all expression.

“ _ O-kay! _ You are officially creepy,” the older wizard conceded. “Noted. No more talking about Teddy’s mating rituals unless I want my office-mate to turn into a dead fish.”

He felt smug, but he kept the emotion inside, continuing to silently stare down his co-worker until Foster looked sufficiently embarrassed and placed a few thick tomes on the edge of his desk, effectively hiding him from Theodore’s sight. Once Foster was hidden from view, Theodore allowed a small smirk to twist his lips, and since his arousal was now a satisfying warmth, waiting at the back of his mind, he refocused his attention on the day’s work.

An hour later, while diligently working on another chart, he crossed two lines and stopped dead. He looked up at the three completed charts he’d hung on the wall, then down at the intersection in front of him. He looked up, then down, then up again. Grabbing some Spellotape and the unfinished chart, he stood quickly, a flurry of excited movement, and taped the chart to the wall next to the others, his energy making his movements sloppy so that the newest chart was left askew. The conclusion was obvious, completely illogical, but irredeemably proven by the math that had formed these charts, and true math never lies, it is only the human factor of fallibility that causes people to sometimes not understand.

He must have made some garbled noise of elation, because Foster was already up from his desc, and coming to stand next to him.

‘ _ Eureka _ ’ Theodore wanted to cry, but it came out more like, “Euah?!” and was accompanied by a one-armed flailing gesture.

Foster’s pale blue eyes scanned over the charts relentlessly, until Theodore jabbed excitedly at the intersection of clarifying lines. It still took the other man another couple minutes to fully comprehend, but when he did, Foster’s eyes snapped wide open and his jaw actually dropped. 

“ _ Dimensions,” _ Foster breathed. 

Finally he regained the use of his tongue. “Dimensions,” Theodore agreed.

“DIMENSIONS!” It was quite possible that they both squealed the world like giddy school girls. Fortunately, no one was there to witness their display and report them with an ‘At Risk Unspeakables’ form.

“It makes so much sense,” Theodore’s eyes sparkled with new vision, his face beaming joy. “If we assume that Apparition takes you to a two-dimensional space, then distance had no meaning, only destination has impact.”

“The equation still works. With _M_ being Magic, and _∂_ being Magical Discord—”

“That means that Magical Discord is the only cause behind why longer distances make wizards more tired!”

“It’s all just a mental play on the magic!”

“So that’s how the—”

“—Apparition—”

“—dislocation through time—”

“—and space!”

“—like a time turner?”

—possibly, though it would require further research—”

“We might get a medal!”

“—only if we can prove it—”

“—more depth to the original equation—”

“I’m going to—”

“Yes, me too.”

They hurried back to their desks, both writing madly, the wild glint of success shining from their eyes. And another two hours sped away while they hashed out the details, loud arguments and excited comments filling the space between scratching quills and the scrape of chalk on slate. Close to the end of the workday, they finished. The theory and Abstract were written out, and tests and methods were numbered in  neat block letters and everything was set up for trials the next day.

Theodore was full of an almost chemical energy, and he could still feel the synapses of his brain working in overtime as he gathered his papers together with jittery hands. Across from him, Foster was celebrating the day’s work in a completely different manner, tilting back in his chair with a satisfied sigh, lazily directing his wand to transcribe the chalked in figures to parchment before filing everything away in a cabinet behind his desk.

“Fucking incredible,” Theodore directed at his co-worker, unable to sit still after he’d put everything away. He paced restlessly in front of his desk, watching the minute hand tick slowly. 

“You can be pretty brilliant, Nott.” Foster smiled at him, double-checking his locks. “Never met anyone quite as good at maths as you are.”

“Piss off, Foster, I can’t accept an ego boost from  _ you _ . It might knock my world off it’s axis!”

“I’d say the world’s suffered enough tilts today as it is!”

They both laughed at the inside joke, still giddy on the day’s success.

*

Neville stalked through the Department of Mysteries, face set in a foreboding mask that sent anyone in his way scurrying off to the side. His robes snapped behind him on flurries of pent up magical release and each step sounded loudly off the polished floors. He had a person to acquire and no one would stand in his way! Doors opened almost of their own accord before him, and in no time at all he was striding into the office of the Mysteries of Space. 

Theodore came to a stop from his frenetic pacing several feet in front of him. Neville himself stood stunned by the absolute  _ vision _ of a wizard in front of him. Theodore’s face was flushed with color, everything about him seemed vibrant and alive. Stars sparkled in the deep blue cobalt of Theodore’s eyes, while his hair fell tousled and uncultivated around his face. His mouth had the smallest part to it and the lips were bitten red and shiny, like he’d been licking them repeatedly. He trembled where he stood, vibrating on energy. 

Neville had believed he’d seen the extent of Theodore’s beauty when he’d looked upon his naked and unspoilt body for the first time, but he now knew he never really would. There were depths of Theodore that he had never seen. The beautiful image before him was just one facet to the many sides of the man. He felt arousal and adrenalin slam through him like a tidal wave, and when he spoke, his voice was a deep growl of want.

“Let’s go.”

“ _ Yes _ —Merlin,  _ yes! _ ”

Theodore was at his side in an instant, grabbing his hand and pulling him through the door and down the hall, eager, so very eager. He caught up in moments, wrapping an arm around the Slytherin’s waist and propelling him forward, possession written bold in the way his hand dug into the soft arc of Theodore’s hip.

“ _ Neville _ ,” Theodore whined, high and needy. And  _ fuck _ if the man wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d ever seen! Being in the depths of the ministry, with so many levels between themselves and the exit was going to kill him. Every beat of his heart had his body thrumming to the tune of  _ NeedNeedNeedNowNowNow! _

No one else was in the lift when they entered, and he sealed the gate shut so no one  _ would _ enter until they got to the Atrium. He barely had time to fire off the spell before Theodore latched onto his mouth, pulling him in by the lapels of his robes and pressing as close as he could until Neville felt his back bump against the wall. Greedy lips moved over his and a hot, wet tongue shoved past and into his mouth, claiming and tasting and so,  _ so _ good! He pressed his knee over and forward and was rewarded with the most wanton groan he’d ever heard when his thigh pressed into the firm line of Theodore’s erection through his robes. 

He couldn’t think, could barely react, only drank in the sight before him. Theodore, panting and wild before him, with his eyelashes fluttering as he pushed up for another taste of Neville’s mouth. The air around them was full of Theodore’s nonsensical words, endless syllables that told Neville  _ exactly _ how much the other wizard wanted this, wanted this and  _ more _ ! The amount of enthusiasm Theodore was showing floored him and made everything that much more exciting, taking every action and reaction to entire new levels.

The lift  _ dinged _ . 

“Theo—Theo, c’mon… stop… stop, Theo—”

In the end, he had to forcibly push Theodore off of him, which hurt in his chest a lot more than it had any right to, though the whining noises spilling from the smaller man’s mouth spoke to Theodore’s own displeasure.

He dragged Theodore through the crowd, and the sheer  _ amount _ of people in the Atrium at this time of day did wonders for their concealment. Undoubtedly, a few people saw them and there could be no doubt as to  _ exactly _ what had been going on… but Neville paid no heed to anyone, focused purely on getting home and on getting into a bed… or not even a bed, any flat surface would do nicely at this point!

He turned his head once before reaching the floo to the Ministry Apparition Site, looking down and to the side to see Theodore looking up at him—and he didn’t know what he’d done to earn the look of  _ worship _ etched on Theodore’s face. If his mind hadn’t been on autopilot, limbs moving forward almost of their own accord, he was sure he would have stopped still in the middle of the Atrium, content to drink in every hint of desire shown in the flush of his boyfriend’s cheeks, or the admiration and lust that mixed together seamlessly in Theodore’s eyes, or the way a wild, carefree smile stretched across his face when Theodore’s eyes caught and held his. It was just one more image he wanted to keep with him forever, one more side of Theodore that’s achingly beautiful. And someday he was going to capture all those different expressions on a camera and fill countless albums with images of this untameable, perfect man. When they got to the floo, Theodore literally  _ shoved  _ him into it, and when he stepped out the other end, there was no break in the flames, but Theodore stepped out right on his heels. He gripped his lover around the waist and felt the press of lips beginning to map out his jawline as he pulled them both into an Apparition.

There was not a single, non-primal thought in his head. Neville pressed Theodore down into the mattress after executing an Apparition that  _ popped _ them both into existence inches above the quilted comforter on his bed at the cottage. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d done such a perfect Apparition, especially with Theodore’s tongue drawing whorls down his neck—

“Oh, bloody  _ fuck _ , Neville!  _ Please _ , I need—!”

“You want these clothes off, Theo?” Neville’s voice purred over his lips, and he felt Theodore shiver beneath him. “So needy, aren’t you, baby? Been dying for my cock since the moment I stepped into your office…”

“ _ Neville _ …”

“Look at that blush… you can’t deny it though—I could see it in your eyes… could see every dirty thought the second you looked at me…”

“ _ Fuck _ …”

“I most certainly will.”

One hand trailed down his lover’s side, cupping his hip and drawing Theodore up to meet the rolling grind of Neville’s clothed erection. His other hand held his wand, and he dragged it swiftly down Theodore’s sternum, buttons falling open in its wake. Soft, pale skin flashed enticingly under robes far too thick and bulky. Theodore’s trousers came undone easily, and Neville pushed his hand between cloth and skin until he wrapped his fingers around the perfection that was his boyfriend’s hard and aching arousal. Theodore’s eyes closed tightly and his entire body tensed, hips rutting into Neville’s fist and back arching—

“ _ Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.” _

_ “ _ Holy shit, Theo. Beg me a little harder, why don’t you?” but it was hard to keep his own concentration with the smaller wizard writhing beneath him, ragged gasps and broken pleas spilling over kiss tender lips. Which is maybe why he didn’t bother continuing to undress Theodore the muggle way… with a muttered spell their clothing vanished. 

The sudden skin-on-skin felt heavenly and their erections slid together in the well of their hips. Theodore was practically coming apart beneath him, and he hadn’t even put his fingers anywhere near the other man’s ass.  

“Oh, fuck! Neville shit, I… I—I’m—”

He wasn’t prepared for Theodore to arch suddenly, mouth flying open on Neville’s name, eyes glazing, limbs trembling, as he came  _ hard _ . His release painted strips of slick warmth against their skin and suddenly Neville wanted nothing more but to  _ taste _ . He slid down the naked, twitching body until his face was inches away from the still mostly hard cock, where thick ropes of cum painted Theodore’s hips and stomach. 

“Neville, what—!  _ A-ah! _ ”

Theodore tasted salty and bitter and sweet and everything good. His skin was like butter under his tongue, so smooth and soft and warm. Theodore squirmed against him, oversensitive, his cock drooling out helpless spurts of cum and twitching under the fresh onslaught. He wanted to see Theodore get hard again, he wanted to  _ make _ Theodore hard again! Using two fingers, he scooped up some of Theodore’s cum and maneuvered the man’s hips until his hole was displayed. Cum-soaked fingers immediately rubbed and teased around the fluttering entrance while Theodore writhed and pleaded…

“I  _ can’t _ Neville—please, it’s too much! Oh,  _ fuck _ ! That feels…  _ Nev _ !”

“I thought you wanted me to fuck you,” Neville teased, gently pressing one finger past the clench of Theodore’s heat. He withdrew quickly, well-aware that cum was no substitute for lube and reached blindly past Theodore’s hip to open the bedside drawer and retrieve a small jar of lube. One-handed, he unscrewed the lid—

“Oh, Neville, no! Yes—fuck!  _ Shit! Shit! Shit!” _

Theodore’s insides spasmed around his finger and he licked a broad wet stroke up his lover’s quickly re-hardening cock. The brunette twisted beneath his hold, seeming to simultaneously squirm back from the overstimulation and also push further into his touch. 

“You want my cock, don’t you Theo?” Neville sucked a bright mark into the  tender skin of Theodore’s inner thigh. The action produced a strangled sort of groan from his lover.

“ _ Neville _ ,  _ Neville, Neville _ ,” the brunette chanted mindlessly. 

Neville slipped in another finger, gently rubbing his own erection into the covers. Theodore was so pliant and incredible. He couldn’t even  _ begin _ understand his luck… that the brunette had gone out with him, let alone returned his affections. They hadn’t said the words to each other yet, but there was no mistaking the depth of emotion behind every look and fleeting touch… behind the things they left unsaid. 

At that moment, Theodore bucked wildly into his fingers, hand reaching down to push into his own stomach—as if he wanted to reach for his erection, but was afraid to touch the still sensitive skin. Neville’s mind cleared of all thoughts but the  _ want,  _ the heady desire, the overwhelming lust. He made the decision for his lover and moved his mouth down over Theodore’s cock, not sucking yet, just resting the weight of it on his tongue, gently surrounding the flushed skin with heat. While Theodore was busy babbling—

“Mother of all things— _ Nev… _ oh, please! Oh, please, please, please…”

—he stretched the tight entrance around the two scissoring fingers and then added the third when Theodore exhaled loudly and he felt the muscles relax, opening for him. He let go of the cock with one last, broad lick from root to tip.

“ _ Theodore _ ,” he rolled the name off his tongue, dark and heavy.

Theodore moaned, looking down and locking blown-black eyes with Neville, then moaned again at the look of hunger Neville was giving him.

“Are you going to come again Theo? Come twice for me? Come with my cock buried deep inside you?”

“Oh, fuck...”

Neville moved up until he was bracing himself above Theodore again, and he shared the taste of Theodore’s skin and come when he shoved his tongue into the smaller man’s mouth. Reaching down, he positioned the blunt, purple head of his erection at Theodore’s hole and rubbed it slowly up and down the incoherent man’s cleft.

“What was that, Theo?” he teased.

“ _ Hngh!” _

“You still want me to stop?”

“Fuck, Neville, please  _ don’t stop _ ! Please… fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck—”

He pushed in mid-sentence, and Theodore cut off in a howl of pleasure. Neville groaned his own bliss into the hollow of Theodore’s arched throat, then bit and sucked a large, red mark up to the surface of the skin as he shifted his hips incrementally, working his way deeper and deeper into the blistering heat of Theodore’s innermost places. Once seated, he held still, trembling with the exertion of not moving.

“Move! For the love of everything holy—!”

Theodore pushed at his shoulders, urging him into motion.

“I don’t know if we should be bringing God into this—” Neville started.

“ _ Move _ !”

He obliged.

A guttural scream ripped past Theodore’s lips when he shifted and began pounding relentlessly into his lover’s prostate. Too hot… too wet… too tight. Everything in him held tight to the last edges of his sanity as the clench of Theodore’s body drove him to new heights. He felt the constant, potent pleasure that sex always flushed his body with, but it was so  _ different _ and so much more because it  _ meant  _  more! This was Theo—his Theo! The man who clung so desperately to him, who looked at him with nothing but love and adoration in his eyes! It was intensely powerful to feel that blue gaze focused on his person… to be the subject of so much ardent emotion. 

“Deeper, Neville, please…  _ own me _ …!”

In an instant, thoughts of anything other than sex flew out of his mind.

“You filthy little slut… look at you, you’re  _ gagging _ for it!”

His hands went to Theodore’s hips and held the lithe man still as he dragged his cock agonizingly slowly out of the hot, grasping channel. Theodore fisted his hands in the blankets, straining against his hold, a keening noise coming from high in his throat. Neville slid entirely out and looked down at the red-rimmed, leaking mess of Theodore’s hole.

“What? What the fuck! Put it… put it back!”

He flipped his lover over swiftly, one hand on Theodore’s hip, and the other on his chest, while the brunette continued to pant and mutter profanities. The pale limbs trembled under his hands, and the thick, red cock hung down toward the bed when he positioned Theodore on all fours, nudged his thighs apart and kissed behind his lover’s ear.

He found Theodore’s entrance, wet and ready, and plunged back inside, reveling in the feeling of silken heat, enveloping his shaft and clenching obscenely around him. His groan mingled in the air with Theodore’s own as he collapsed onto his face, arms too shaky to withstand the way the change in position allowed Neville to slide deeper than he’d ever been. 

“You perfect… gorgeous… bitch…” Neville accentuated each word with rolling thrusts. Theodore rocked his own body back to meet him, setting a hard, fast, tail-spinning rhythm. “Say you’re mine—”

“ _ I’m yours _ !” The words came quickly, desperately, like Theodore had been on the verge of saying them himself. “I’m yours! I’m yours—”

“ _ Yes _ …” his thrusts began to turn this side of wild. Every thrust rocking Theodore up the bed, until the Slytherin put an arm out to brace himself against the headboard, entire body shuddering and wracked with the pistoning of Neville’s hips. 

Neville leaned forward and cupped both his hands under Theodore’s body, one hand going up to play with a peaked nipple that jutted out proudly, rubbed firm by the friction of the comforter. At the first touch Theodore tightened unbearably around his cock and he had to bite his upper arm to stave off orgasm, determined to make Theodore come apart again before he gave into his own release. His other hand traveled down the shaking body, wrapped around Theodore’s erection, forming a chute the brunette could drive into. Theodore’s face pressed into the mattress, garbled strings of worship and pleas for more almost muffled by the thick conforter. His eyes were shut tight and his hair plastered over his forehead and spread in a damp halo around him. 

“You look like an angel, Theo… you look so beautiful…”

“ _ Neville _ …”

“I love you!” Neville blurted out, the words pressing at every wall in his brain, and spilling out without restraint. “I love you—”

Theodore’s eyes snapped open and focused on him, and the look on the brunette’s face betrayed every emotion Theodore was feeling: joy, desire, gratitude, hope, surprise, awe, and endless fathoms of love. Neville choked on a moan, and came deeply, pushing every spurt as deep into Theodore as he could get it, marking him and claiming him. Every slowing twist of his hips brought another rush of release from him. 

Theodore pushed into Neville’s loose fist twice more and came with a cry of his own, collapsing fully onto the bed and pulling Neville down with him. The smaller man’s orgasm caused Theodore’s body to tighten and release spasmodically and the fluttering hole milked every last drop out of Neville’s own spent cock. Gradually he rolled them until they were lying spooned together, and he was no longer crushing Theodore under his weight. His cock slipped from  the wrecked channel along with a surge of semen.

He was fairly sure Theodore had passed out after his own orgasm, but the man was now showing signs of life, shifting minutely and moaning slightly on every exhale.

“That good?” Neville quipped.

A long, drawn out, “ _ fu-uck _ …” was his only answer.

He gave a weak chuckle, and said a few general Cleaning Spells and then set an alarm for a couple hours so they would actually shower and brush their teeth before allowing sleep to take them for the night.

For now, he was content to lay quiet next to the one he loved, pull up the sheets, and bury his face into the sweet-smelling skin of Theodore’s neck.

“I love you too.”

He heard the quiet confession whispered into the empty air around them. Instead of answering, he jostled Theodore until he could kiss the breath out of him, then held him with an added level of tightness until they fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being pretty much pure porn ;). Whatever... hope you enjoyed it!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Scenes of past child abuse in this chapter. If you think you might get triggered, skip to the end of of the italic.

****

_ He dodges around the corner, sticking to the lightest parts of every hallway, chasing the glow of the setting sun that peeks through drab curtains set in high windows. He knows how much quicker he’ll be found if he keeps to the light, but he can’t help but shy away from the dark, for the shadows have always belonged to  _ him _! This is a chilling game of cat and mouse he’s played many times before… he knows the rules, he knows what’s at stake. But he stays to the light. _

_ His new Slytherin robes shift softly over his skin as he puts every instinct he possesses into moving quickly and quietly. He’s only had them for a year, but they’re already a little short around the ankle… it just makes them easier to run in— _

_ He flies down the hall, the prickling of his scalp, and the sense of eyes watching him growing stronger and stronger! _

_ A flash of white spell light momentarily lights up the shadowy alcove at the end of the hallway and he sees a profile cast in sharp relief, a thin nose, deep set eyes, frowning lips, and lines of anger set in every crease of skin. _

_ He ducks down and to the side, but there’s already more white light flying at him and one of the Hexes slams into his side, just below the ribs. The immediate flare of stinging pain that radiates from the area is expected; Also expected is the tight, raw feeling the Hex leaves behind. But he doesn’t stop moving, already turning around and running as fast as his ‘small’, ‘thin’, ‘pathetic’ legs can take him.  _

_ The next Stinging Hex hits him in the small of his back and throws him onto the stone tile of the floor. He struggles to shake it off and stand, but a volley of stinging hurt brought on white light hits his legs and more of his torso and he falls, panting heavily, eyes rolling as he strains to draw in each harsh breath. His skin feels too tight, and hot, and uncomfortable, and pain radiates out from each hit area . He’s fallen into an place in the hallway where the dim glow of a day nearly over doesn’t reach, and he feels, more than sees, the harsh stare being leveled upon him by a man who finally deems to get close enough to touch… _

_ “Fourteen minutes. That pathetic school has made you soft.” _

_ The toe of a sturdy boot kicks into his ribs faster than he can react and he clamps his teeth shut over the hurt grunt that tries to escape him.  _

_ “Get up.” _

_ Without the onslaught of spells keeping him down, Theodore quickly struggles to his feet, favoring one leg, and resisting the temptation to press a hand to his side. The left-over sting of spellwork fades incrementally the longer he stands, but he can still feel how his skin is swollen and distorted beneath the robes, . _

_ “Pitiful,” his father sneers, flicking his wand slightly.  _

_ Theodore is ready and shifts to the side, away from the spell light and into his father’s fist to the side of his head. Black dots bloom into vision before him as he sinks like a rock down to the floor. The roar of fear, adrenalin, and agony press in on his head and make it hard to hear, but he can concentrate enough through the buzz to focus on the words now spoken. _

_ “No words for your father after almost a year apart?” The tone is mocking, hard to distinguish behind the  _ throb, throb, throb _ in his skull. But he  _ does _ have something he wants to know! The thought has been tearing through him ever since a conversation he’d had with the Malfoy heir. On a morning when Malfoy’s customary eagle owl arrived, bearing sweets and letters, he’d asked why the boy’s parents always sent him so much. Malfoy had answered snidely, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, that it was because all heirs are beloved by their parents. _

_ “Do you ever love me?” he asks his father, thin voice high, but not stuttering or broken with pain. _

_ For a moment, a look he has never seen before chases across the elder Nott’s face, but then it is replaced by that hard, cold anger he is used to. _

_ “Love is a wound,” he says. Then, “ _ Crucio. _ ” _

Theodore woke up and kept his eyes closed tight. Neville’s arms were around him, but instead of the comfort they normally gave, they only felt restricting and he shuffled out of them as quickly as he could without waking the sleeping Gryffindor. He was hasty, and probably could have been more graceful about flinging Neville’s arm off, but none of his jostling served to wake the other man. As soon as he was unrestricted, he instinctively reached for his wand, before remembering why he had placed it across the room for the last few days. That line of thought did nothing to ground him, and his panic only increased as the  _ dark, fright, pain,  _ pressed in from all sides. 

Limbs twitching, he skittered to the door and pulled it open, unconsciously falling into patterns he’d learnt as a child—patterns of silence and caution. He was dressed only in his boxers, feet cold on the floor and body exposed to the chill night air. But to put on clothing meant lingering in the dark for entire minutes, and he just…  _ couldn’t _ . To get to the kitchen he had to walk down the hallway, past his  _ father’s _ old bedroom, down the stairs, down another hallway and then into the dining room, and from there, a small door, concealed in the molding of the wall led into the kitchen. 

By the time he reached his refuge, it was a struggle to keep each breath from gasping, and to keep the chattering of his teeth from breaking the silence. His feet ghosted across the floor, cold against the stone, as he fumbled in the dark— _ too dark— _ for the switch to the burners. Meanwhile, the ever repressive chill of his nighttime surroundings rushed at him, throwing shadowy figures to swirl and loom and—

The switch! The small flame burst into brilliant, dazzling light, and Theodore turned up the dial until the flames were as tall as he could make them, quickly turning on the rest of the burners until the surface looked almost like it was on fire! Blessed heat scorched away the goosebumps crawling up his neck  and the chill of phantom fists that flew out from shadowy spaces. With the dancing light of the fire splayed over every kitchen surface, he worked quickly to gather a candle and lit it, using that candle to light the rest of the oil lamps and candelabras until the kitchen seemed cheery once again, dancing flames lighting up every dark recess. With the light, the last of his dream sunk away and he flicked all the burners off, save one, which he turned to a manageable height to boil water for tea.

He stayed in the kitchen for another hour, slowly sipping his tea, and gazing blearily across the room, the loss of sleep warring with the caffeine in the black tea leaves. His kneazle wandered in fairly early on, and hopped into his lap, a comforting, warm presence that soothed away the last tendrils of the stained memory. That’s where Neville found him, heavy feet obviously loud on the hard floor of the manor. The blonde opened the door slowly, cautiously, and only came inside when Theodore looked up and smiled wearily at him.

Neville busied himself with fixing his own cup of tea over by the stove, giving Theodore the chance to think of how he’d talk about this, a chance he appreciated.

After the plopping sound of sugar into liquid, and then the soft splash of added milk, Neville took his seat at the kitchen nook, across from Theodore. The Gryffindor kept his eyes averted while he took a slow sip from his cup, gently placing it on the table before him like some sort of bizarre peace offering to precede his words.

“Everyone who lived through the war has bad dreams, Theo.”

Theodore looked down at his cup as shame flushed his cheeks. He’d held little part in the war, and his nightmares didn’t stem from battle. It seemed important to make the definition.

“It wasn’t about the war.” He wasn’t aware of how wrecked his voice would sound, but it came out gravelly, like he’d been smoking. “It was about my father.” And the second sentence came out from behind gritted teeth, torn unwillingly from him as he forced himself to tell Neville, who  _ deserved _ to know.

The large man hunkered in his seat, watching every nuance of Theodore’s face.

“And?” Neville questioned.

“And… it was about  _ you _ … about what you said… about what  _ I _ said…” This was hard. He’d never had to explain himself to anyone before, never had the sort of close relationship that encouraged a common exchange of  _ personal _ information. And everything he’d had so far with Neville had been, well, it had been so  _ easy _ ! They’d fallen into this relationship without much trouble, apart from the outside influences on their lives.

And now Neville sat across from him, hurt and confusion on his handsome face and Theodore needed to  _ keep _ talking if he wanted to explain. He buried his head in his arms on the table, knowing that the words would come out muffled, but the room was so quiet that Neville would be sure to hear. 

“I  _ do  _ love you, Neville…” the words were strained, but when he peeked up Neville was hanging on his every word. He let his eyes fall again. “You have to understand… my father…”

He was doing this all wrong, starting at the end when crucial information was contained at the beginning. His tongue wouldn’t work, and his eyes began to burn with  _ stupid, weak, useless _ tears. Neville was a solid warmth across from him, his expression carefully neutral with only the barest hint of underlying emotions showing, his curiosity, worry, and understanding. Neville was trying for  _ him _ . He had to try to do this, as well.

“I suppose…” he could get through this, even if each word came out halting and pinched, from behind the walls in his head. “It started when mother died… father wasn’t… he wasn’t ever the same. He’d never been a  _ good _ parent… but at least he’d never been  _ bad _ either… I think he was already pretty deep into the dark arts… we all were…”

Theodore let out a hollow laugh, not daring to look at the Gryffindor war hero’s face after his admission.

“But after mother passed… my father lost control of his magic… and it  _ consumed _ him. He would bring home animals, and he would  _ play  _  with them… leave them around for me to find—”

Neville looked nauseated.

Theodore choked on his words, but forced them out anyway. If he was going to say this, then he would say it  _ once _ and never again!

“Going to Hogwarts… it was a blessing  _ and _ a curse… because he came to  _ miss _ me once I was gone. Apparently the house elf wasn’t entertaining… it couldn’t  hide… it couldn’t  _ run _ …” He pressed his eyes into the skin of his arm, furious with himself for crying…  _ knowing _ Neville would hear it in his voice.

“When I woke up this morning—”

_ ‘What would the Dark Lord do with something as weak as you?’ _

“When I woke up… this morning…”

‘ _ Theodore? Where are you hiding, my son? Father has a surprise planned for you…’ _

“I had a dream… more like a memory…”

‘ _ I see you—” _

“...the first…”

‘ _ This is why I can never turn you over to the Dark Lord.’ _

“...and last time…”

‘ _ Because you’d disgrace the House of Nott by pissing yourself!” _

“...I ever asked if he loved me.”

His father’s voice continued to drown out his thoughts and Theodore breathed harshly through his teeth. Had that been enough? Was Neville going to leave now that he knew what a failure he was? He didn’t know… he couldn’t  _  concentrate _ !

He extended one hand a few inches across the space between them, a wordless hope, an unconscious plea, and Neville immediately enveloped it in the rough warmth of his own hand. Neville held his hand like it was a lifeline, like he could force comfort, strength, and love through this one connecting point between them. Theodore leaned back in his chair, withdrawn and defensive. Neville canted forward where he sat, earnest and concerned.

“This doesn’t—” he started, then grew frustrated. “I love you, Neville,” and that statement, at least, was firm in conviction. “I  _ know _ I love you. But the idea of love, in  _ this _ house—it’s diseased… tainted with memories of a household where love was an illness… and a weakness—”

Finally, Neville moved to say something, though it’s not what he would have ever expected.

“I want you to move in with me.”

…

“What?” 

Neville just laid it all out there, didn’t he? He should have expected it, really. Everything with them seemed to run so lightning fast, but he could honestly say that he never did. The manor was… it’s not a place he ever  _ wanted _ to live in, but it’s a duty. It’s something passed onto the heir of the Nott fortunes, and Theodore was the only Nott left. This was  _ family  _ business!

But Neville looked ardent and handsome, sitting there in nothing but his shirt and briefs, and after the dream he just had, Theodore  _ wanted _ … 

So he listened to what Neville had to say.

“I just hope I’m not scaring you off by saying this, but you know how Gryffindors are, stupidly honest and all that shite… I want  _ everything _ with you, Theo… I meant what I said last night, and I’m very,  _ very _ much in love with you. I want you to be a part of my life, and have a place in my home. I don’t care if it’s just a test run. I don’t care if you stay a couple nights and then need your own space. But I want it all, Theo. I want you to fill my house with your things until it smells like both of us. I want you to steal the last bar of soap or reorganize the rooms until I don’t know where anything is. I want to know I’m going to sleep next to you every night and know I’m waking up with you in the morning. I want you to bring your pet in so he can get fur all over everything!”

Albho made a snooty huffing noise from his place in Theodore’s lap.

“I want  _ you _ , Theo… I want you in my life.”

He had somehow managed to keep eye contact with Neville while he talked, though that was a feat in and of itself. The emotions that poured from Neville’s lips and shone so unapologetically in his eyes cut through Theodore’s carefully built up defenses… 

He felt raw under that gaze; and the uncomfortable reminders of his duty made his stomach uneasy, present in the centuries old stone beneath his feet, in the house moniker embellished into every hand towel, and in every portrait of generations past scattered throughout the house. There was on in this very room! In the kitchen! An elegant sitting of several past Nott women having tea in a garden sat smugly on the wall to his left, and every now and then, the ladies in the portrait glanced over at them and tittered into their gloved hands. 

Theodore extended his other hand until he was cupping Neville’s larger hand between both of his. He lowered his head to the table, unable to look at Neville’s hopeful, devoted face and still think, and ran the pads of his fingers over the roughness of Neville’s knuckles. 

“I need a day—a day or so to think about it…”

“I would move here—!”

“NO!”

Neville looked shocked, and hurt once again, which was the  _ last  _ thing Theodore wanted, so he hurried to explain.

“I want to move in with  _ you _ , Neville. I don’t want you to give up your beautiful home and your gardens and greenhouses… it’s completely unfair to ask you to do that when I don’t even  _ like _ living here. But this isn’t a decision I can just make. You understand don’t you?” And here he looked up at last, showing Neville the conflict in his eyes. “This is about  _ family _ .” 

They both came from long lines of family with pure blood. This wasn’t just Theodore’s decision to make. He had to take into account that he would be abandoning the last, and greatest House of Nott, a house that had been filled with generations of Notts for centuries, a house that had never stood empty… Understanding took its place on Neville’s features and Theodore breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Have you had anything to eat yet?” Neville asked, squeezing his hands once before getting up to root around the cupboards. Outside, the sky was turning grey with the first light of dawn.

The clear acceptance left him boneless in his seat. This entire morning had just been an utter train wreck, and he was more than happy for Neville to wait on him and be there for him while he pieced together the last bits of his composure. Neville poured some more tea and got some scones out of the bread box, setting them on a plate between them. He felt a soft nudge when Neville sat down again and stretched his legs out to lock their feet together in the space beneath the table.

Taking the comfort such a casual touch provided, Theodore sipped his tea, and accepted a scone, and thought about moving in with his boyfriend.


	15. Chapter 15

His brain was very strange sometimes. Instead of mulling over Neville’s proposal, or freaking out about how unsettled he’d been by his dreams, he couldn’t seem to shake the whole  _ Neville confessed to him _ thing.

He kind of… maybe… thought he knew that Neville could be in love with him, but actually  _ knowing _ it had turned his entire world around. For a split second after Neville’s confession in the throes of passion, Theodore was afraid that it was a mistake. He was afraid that Neville would take it back with an, ‘ _ I didn’t mean it! I made it up.’ _

But as soon as his startled eyes had found Neville’s ecstasy-writ face, he knew the words were true. Honesty and deep, bone-loyal  _ meaning _ had settled like a thick blanket over Neville’s features. Happiness and love shone brilliant as stars in his lover’s eyes. Theodore was as helpless to return the sentiment as parchment in the wind. He couldn’t just  _ not _ love Neville. He’d loved him since the very first day…

Neville had already left him to work with Unspeakable Belby and all Theodore had accomplished this morning was the act of getting to his own desk. Since then, he’d either stared goofily off into space or had blearily shuffled papers around on his desk, all while displaying a highly inappropriate smile that  _ wouldn’t. Go. Away. _ Foster had already made several disparaging comments.

Seriously, he  _ had _ to focus! He wished there was a potion or a spell that would allow him to stop thinking of—

Neville’s perfect smiling face and the way his lips formed around the word, ‘love.’

—He’d disappointed Neville this morning, made a complete fool of himself by wallowing in his own self pity and confused emotions—

The warmth and comfort of being held close in Neville’s brawny arms, feeling their hearts beat in tandem.

—He needed to make a decision, dammit! He needed to suck it up and just  _ leave _ ! Leave the horrible, falling apart wreck of his childhood nightmares! Leave the  _ Ancestral House of Nott _ ! Oh Circe’s tits, he could hear the portraits screaming profanity at him already… At least now his  _ Neville confessed to me _ buzz was effectively killed. It was a nice buzz though… why had he ever wanted it to leave in the first place? 

He needed some tea. Tea was normal and calming and constant and always seemed to get him centered quicker.

“Did Neville succeed in  _ actually _ screwing your brains out, then?”

“Admirably crass, Foster. And I do believe I’ve said this before, but my personal life really is  _ none _ of your business.”

“And he returns to the land of the living!” No trace of shame was present on Foster’s face, who instead radiated a gleeful sort of  _ smugness _ .

“Piss off,” Theodore responded. Not his best come back, to be sure, but he was off his game today. He emptied the dregs of tea left over from this morning’s pot out of his thermos and into his teacup. He then opened the drawer of his desk that he kept under a Freshness Charm and reached into the far back for the sugar he rarely used. It had been a long morning, and sugar was going to be needed if he intended be in the same room with his idiot of a coworker without throttling the elder man!

“If you’d actually listened to me at any point this morning, you’d know that I cannot ‘piss off,’ for we have important things to do regarding the—oh, bugger!”

The standard cobalt blue Department of Magical Law Enforcement interdepartmental memo hovered impatiently in front of Theodore’s nose. Ignoring Foster’s whinging from across the room, he unfolded it and read the short message inside:

_ Mr. Theodore Nott, _

_ Apologies for interrupting you in the middle of the work day, but we need to speak. As soon as you are able, please make your way to the DMLE. I will be waiting for you in my office, barring some sort of emergency.  _

_ Senior Auror Weasley, R. _

“Don’t leave me!  _ No _ …” Foster moaned dramatically as Theodore locked up his desk and made for the door.

“You’ll live,” he said in parting.

He rolled his eyes at Foster’s answering, “I’ll die  _ alone _ …”

The trip up to Weasley’s office was a little hazardous. At this time of day, the ministry was full of wizards and witches rushing to and fro, from meetings to appointments and errands. The true scale of the Ministry of Magic was absolutely incredible. After all, it was a single building that housed the  _ entirety _ of the England’s magical world government, and law enforcement, and justice system, as well as the countless other departments that ensured the country ran like it was supposed to. Apparently they were in the process of expanding the fourth floor for an entirely new department as well, something the mudblood Granger had come up with. Knowing how ridiculously smart the witch was, the new department would undoubtedly be brilliant. And seeing as he was currently about to meet said mudblood’s husband, he should really clamp down on those sort of derogatory thoughts.

He knocked on the wall of Senior Auror Weasley’s cubicle and the redhead immediately looked up, relief flashing obviously across his face as he ushered Theodore in with an impatient hand motion. 

“Take a seat… please,” he added belatedly.

Theodore sat in the sturdy chair in front of Weasley’s overflowing desk. It was honestly hard to see even a square inch of wood beneath the towering heaps of paperwork Weasley had piled up. The stocky redhead sighed before addressing Theodore in that impossibly gentle tone he’d adopted before.

“I asked for you to come here so we could further discuss your safety.”

Straight to the point, then. Theodore appreciated it.

“Well, as you know, I’ve had my house warded by Faye Pucey…” he let it trail off, uncertain as to what exactly the Auror wanted.

“Right, and that’s brilliant! It’s just… let me be frank here, Mr. Nott. We haven’t seen this many potential casualties since the war. And, so far as we know, you’re still the only person who’s managed to escape an attack by this person. We’re no closer to finding out who he… or  _ she _ is, as we’ve got  _ no _ eyewitness accounts, and the magical signature isn’t registered on any of our databases, which means that this is the first time this—this  _ fucker _ !...” Weasley physically gathered his composure and his ears turned red at the tips in a testament to the shame he felt at losing his control. “Well, it’s the first time this  _ perpetrator _ has committed a crime… in the UK at any rate. We’ve actually contacted law enforcement departments in other European countries without any luck. 

“Look, the point is, is that every time I have a spare moment to  _ think _ , I’m worrying about  _ you _ , Mr. Nott. So please, in consideration of my remarkably frayed nerves… can you just…  _ isolate _ yourself, or something. You know, only use the floo… stay inside your house or inside the Department of Mysteries. I mean, it doesn’t get much safer than that, does it?” 

If it weren’t for the absolute  _ desperation _ etched in Weasley’s face, Theodore would most certainly have had something to say about this self-imposed confinement to home and office. But he’d been having a good look at the Gryffindor lionheart while he talked and had come to the conclusion that life was not going well for one Ronald Weasley. His eyes were encircled by dark rings that testified to days of sleep deprivation, and the worry lines to Weasley’s face made him look older than his twenty years. Add to that the genuine concern shining out of his baby blue eyes, and Theodore couldn’t find it in himself to say anything biting to the stressed out man.

He did have one question for Weasley. “How many people have gone missing?”

The redhead looked down at the desk, and muttered loud enough for Theodore to hear, “I  _ really _ shouldn’t tell you this, but if it will make you take your own safety in mind… twenty-four… it’s now twenty-four people disappeared… and we’re no closer…”

“Okay,” Theodore rushed, if only to get the _utterly_ depressing look off of Weasley’s face.  “Okay, yes. I’ll stay safe in my home and in the Department of Mysteries.”

Relief lit like a bulb over the redhead’s features, and he gave a happy sort of smile. Theodore couldn’t help but return it, something about that big, toothy expression was infectious.

And then he remembered, “there is  _ one _ thing though…”

The smile slipped a little.

“Neville mentioned some sort of Friday get together with his friends that he wanted to take me to…?”

“Oh! Oh,  _ that _ ! Well, if I’m not there then Harry will be, so that’s basically an Auror guard right there! Sure, I don’t have a problem with that. Erm… just make sure you have Neville escort you to and from, yeah?” Weasley at least looked appropriately bashful about his overprotective instinct, but he didn’t change his request, and Theodore nodded in compliance.

“Brill! I’ll probably see you tomorrow then!” Weasley smirked a little, and added, “didn’t know you two were so serious… he’s never introduced one of his boyfriends to us before.”

Fortunately Theodore was a trained pureblood and he did. Not. Blush. Not even a little. However, he did excuse himself hastily, with an, “if that’s all?”

And upon Weasley’s answering grin and nod, he was out the door as quick as anything.

*

“Was that Theo I just saw, hurrying away like there was Fiendfyre on his tail?”

Neville said the words with a smile, but there was an underlying protectiveness resonating in his stance, and a steely glint in his eye that had Ron holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“Chill, Nev! I was just riling him up a little after he told me you were bringing him to meet us all on Leaky Cauldron Friday!”

“What was he doing up here, anyway?” he asked, sitting down, but still not entirely relaxed.

“I called him up here for the same reason I brought you here: to talk about his safety.”

Immediately Neville leaned forward into Ron’s desk, allowing his face to show all the worry and apprehension and  _ fear _ he’d been trying to hide from Theodore. 

“What? Why? Has something happened? Shit! I inherited a bolt hole up in Romania that I never knew the Longbottoms owned, do you think I should—”

“Neville, stop! We can’t just drag him away and lock him up somewhere! I told him as long as he spends his time either here in the ministry or at home he should be safe, okay? I don’t want to isolate the guy any further just because there’s a madman running around! Sheesh!” He ran a hand through red hair distractedly. “You’ve really got it bad, haven’t you?”

“I love him,” Neville said, without hesitation.

“Right, well, I told him he should be able to come on Friday as long as he’s careful, but I really need you to stick close to him, okay? This case is weighing on all of us, and Nott’s escape is the only thing that’s keeping us from going ‘round the bend, you understand?”

“I asked him to move in with me,” Neville offered.

Ron sighed, looking pained. “Nott’s had his house warded by  _ Faye Pucey _ . She’s the best there is, and now he’s got blood wards around that house too, which means he’s got nearly as strong a defense around him as Harry had when he was living with the Dursley’s!  Just… just wait until we catch this guy, alright Neville?”

He nodded his understanding and Ron’s face twitched into some sort of half-smile. “Ginny’s going to have a litter of Nifflers if she comes, mate. You’ll have to fend off your man from her gossip-mongering clutches! And then she’ll tell mom all about him, and… well, you know she likes them skinny.”

They shared a laugh, dispersing a large amount of the tension in the room. 

“See you on Friday, then?” he asked.

“See you on Friday.”

*

After his meeting with Weasley, Theodore threw himself back into his work. There was this lingering fear in the back of his mind that had no place in the Department of Mysteries! No place at all! His job was his  _ sanctuary _ ! So he threw himself into the only thing that could make his mind stop buzzing, the only thing that could make him stop seeing faces he knew from his youth Draco Malfoy for certain, and who knew how many others of the children he grew up with were now  _ gone _ in the wake of a powerful spell and a deranged wizard! He threw himself into numbers.

The sharp angles and smooth lines filled the corners of his mind and eased out all emotions until he was working in a pool of calm, odds and ratios etched out under the scratch of his quill. It was mind-numbing, a balm to his chaotic mind, and  _ exactly _ what he needed.

Foster, as if sensing his need for solitude, didn’t interrupt the silence of their shared office, but let the day wind slowly on in peaceful quiet. Once, the older wizard stood up and ushered someone away from the door. Theodore didn’t look up, but he knew who it was and felt momentary shame for purposefully ignoring his boyfriend. Then he pushed that feeling to the side as well, and for the rest of the day, he went completely undisturbed.

When he slowly put away his work at the end of the day, his movements were lethargic, slow and heavy. He muffled a yawn behind his arm, feeling sleepy, and didn’t protest when Neville’s large hand came out of nowhere and helped him up. He spared a glance for the clock and saw that several hours had gone by since the work day had officially ended. Foster had, no doubt, left at that time, and Neville must have been that comforting presence he’d vaguely felt enter the room a while back.

“...to Ron earlier…” Neville was saying. Theodore nodded blearily into the taller man’s shoulder. The words came through the air strangely muffled, but he could concentrate enough to hear them.

“...so I guess you’ll be staying at the manor for a while then. I don’t want you to make a decision until you feel comfortable, anyway… shouldn’t have sprung it on you so sudden…”

Theodore made a small noise that sounded sort of like a negation and Neville shushed him.

He didn’t recall most of the trip back to the manor and only vaguely recalled brushing his teeth and stripping down to his boxers before clambering beneath the sheets. He  _ did _ recall when Neville made as if to leave—when he latched onto the rough, warm hand with a desperation he didn’t know was there until it was. Neville took one look at Theodore’s face before removing his robes and getting into bed. The smaller man was pulled in close until he was nestled into the length of Neville’s side and the crook of his arm. The steady beating of Neville’s heartbeat was the last thing he remembered before the heavy weight of sleep descended upon him.

*

“Dear Merlin, keep him safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short chapter, just a bit of a filler as the PLOT THICKENS!! 
> 
> (I wish I could imbibe that entire sentence with the sound of doooooom. That would be perfect.)


	16. Chapter 16

“So how many people are coming?” Theodore asked Neville the next afternoon after a full day of work. He was trying to hide his nerves by searching through the closet for something unwrinkled (a hopeless task).

“It’s not a very set sort of thing,” Neville replied. The tall, gorgeous Gryffindor was displaying his utter contentment by sprawling backward over Theodore’s bed, with the bottom portion of his legs bent over the edge of the mattress. This actually gave Theodore an uninterrupted view of the supine man’s crotch—not that he was looking. Even Neville’s voice carried a complete lack of any of the nerves which were plaguing his own body. “Basically, anyone who has a free afternoon on Friday comes to the Leaky Cauldron, and we all catch up.”

“So how many people,  _ theoretically _ , could be there?” He tried a different approach. 

Neville started naming names, ticking off fingers as he went. “Um, I guess… there’s Ron, Harry, Hermione… Luna, if she’s not chasing a Snorlack or a Shorabunt or whatever… erm, Ginny comes if practice gets out early enough, George and Angelina are typically there… Sometimes Dean and Seamus stop by… So that’s nine, but I highly doubt they’ll all be there. And sometimes people bring people, like sometimes Harry or Ron will bring Susan Bones since they’re all aurors together, or one time Hermione bumped into Hannah Abbot and brought her…”

Theodore brought a hand up to tuck some fine hair behind his ear and took a calming breath. Neville propped himself up on his elbows so he could look at his jittery boyfriend.

“It won’t be that bad, you’ll see,” Neville said, with a soft smile. Theodore smiled back uncomfortably. 

He couldn’t quite bring himself to voice his real reasons behind being slightly terrified of this meeting. Yes, he’d agreed to go, and he actually  _ did _ want to go. He wanted more of the feeling he got whenever Neville dragged their relationship out and proudly showed them off. That sort of thing, it felt really—nice… to have that affirmation that he was cared for. But he was about to meet several of the people he’d been taught to loathe since childhood. Forget about the mudbl—erm, better get used to thinking of her as a muggleborn—several members of the biggest family of blood traitors that ever existed might be there! And let’s not forget the defeater of the Dark Lord himself! He didn’t  _ think _ that way anymore. He could admit that he admired Hermione Weasley’s brains, and the reforms she’d been bringing to the ministry were truly groundbreaking… but that didn’t stop years of the social conditioning of his childhood making a forefront and labeling her as someone with dirty, common blood. Senior Auror Weasley was the best the department had ever seen and had been completely transparent and helpful when dealing with Theodore, but in his head he couldn’t get rid of the whole ‘traitor of the Purebloods’ thing. The name of Potter was as reviled in his household as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was in others!

So he smiled uncertainly and picked out an informal dark blue robe with a form-fitting button up front, because when he did he saw the way Neville’s eyes lit in appreciation. The bottom hem of the cloak part was a bit crinkled, but when he put on the tight, grey trousers that went with the robe Neville sat up in the bed and gave him a  _ very _ appreciative once over. It gave him a bit of an ego boost, if he was honest with himself, which was just what he needed right now.

“You ready?” he asked Neville.

Neville stood up from the bed then, but not before arching his back in a spine-cracking stretch which made Theodore’s mouth run dry at the arched and glorious image of his muscular lover. 

“I’m ready. Loosen up a bit Theo, they’re not going to eat you… though I might,” the Gryffindor ended in a low growl, crowding in close on the pretense of pulling Theodore in for an apparition.

Large hands burned holes through fabric as they slid slowly down Theodore’s sides. 

“I like this outfit.”

The hot words rasped over the shell of his ear and he actually jumped when one of Neville’s hands found his rear and squeezed it. Their mouths found each other and Theodore drowned himself in the kiss eagerly, happy to wash away the taint of unhappy thoughts with the feel of Neville’s soft lips and sharp teeth, and with the sucking wet sensation of tongue. There was arousal, threading it’s way into his conscious, but this was more about comfort than anything else. This was Neville pouring his thanks into something physical, and it was Theodore saying that it was okay, saying that he was fine without having to speak a word. They drew back slowly, neither one wanting to be the first to break the kiss, and rested with foreheads pressed together for the span of a moment before Neville apparated them both to the Diagon Alley apparition point. 

“You good?” Neville asked one more time, before opening the brick wall into the plain courtyard at the back of the dingy pub. Neville slid one hand between the cloak and tunic part of Theodore’s robes, resting a reassuring weight on the small of his back. Then the blonde man pushed open the flimsy door and ushered them both into the pub. 

The first thing that struck Theodore was the smell. It had been a while since he’d come to the Leaky Cauldron, but he still remembered how good the food always was, and judging from the savory aroma hanging thick on the air that hadn’t changed. 

“They they are,” Neville said, and Theodore’s gaze was drawn to a table where one… two… three redheads—kill him now—sat along with a black haired woman. So… four people, he could do four. 

By that point, they had been spotted, and the sort of stocky redhead at the end of the table table turned around and waved them over. 

“Oi, Neville! Bring loverboy over and we can get this thing started!”

Neville laughed while Theodore attempted to control his face. They pulled out a couple of chairs, Neville relaxing instantly, while Theodore fell back into pureblood formalities, sitting up straight with his hands on his thighs. Neville took one of his hands instantly, not even pausing as he exchanged pleasantries with those already seated. The reassuring weight of Neville’s palm was so soothing that Theodore even smiled when Neville made introductions. They sat on the long side of one of two old, wooden tables, pushed together so that ten chairs could fit around them both. Opposite Theodore, sat a stocky redhead no one could fail to recognise as the living half of the terrible twinship that ruled Hogwarts for many of his school years. Snuggled into the twin’s side was the black haired witch he’d noticed from afar. Next was the Weasley girl, and lastly was Senior Auror Weasley, sitting Adjacent to Neville. Many of the sturdy time-trusted chairs stood empty, waiting for friends to drop into them. The entire table had the jovial stamp of well loved tradition upon it.

“Theo, meet Fred Weasley and Angelina Johnson, Ginny Weasley, and Ron Weasley who you’ve been seeing far too much of recently,” the large auror smiled at him cheerfully, and it was amazing to see the difference between when the man was working and when he wasn’t. “Everyone, my boyfriend, Theodore Nott!” Neville held up their clasped hands and Ginny let out a shrill squeal, the kind only excited girls can make. The rest of the table made an assortment of whoops and cheers, and all of them clapped and it  _ just _ might have been the most embarrassing moment of Theodore’s life. Especially when a good percentage of the patronage turned to look at the disturbance

“I’m  _ so _ glad Neville’s finally got someone to introduce to us!” Ginny stretched a hand across the table and Theodore released Neville’s warm hold so he could take it in an exuberant shake. “He’s a bit of a fifth wheel,” she teased, “what with the rest of us being married, or  _ going steady _ .” The last two words were issued in a scathing tone of voice, with a meaningful look at her prankster brother and his girlfriend who both stuck their tongues out at the redheaded woman unapologetically. Ginny flipped them off and in the same breath turned her attention back to him. “I almost didn’t come today, but Harry told me Neville was bringing his boyfriend, and I just  _ had _ to meet you. I don’t think I ever talked to you at Hogwarts, but I did see you a couple times. You never really talked much anyway, from what I—”

“Don’t go scaring him away, Gin!” her brother, George, interrupted. “Sorry about this one,” he jerked a thumb at Ginny who huffed at him while still smiling, and he offered Theodore a lopsided smile. The look on his face was one Theodore had seen too many times, a face damaged by loss, but still strong enough to face the future with a smile. He offered a quirk of his lips back, and it brought something more lively to George’s face. 

“This here’s my lovely girl—” he hugged the beautiful dark featured woman into his side a bit more, and Angelina gave Theodore a smile too.

“Nice to meet you, Theodore.”

While Theodore had been busy on his side of the table, Ron and Neville struck up a conversation, and it gradually drew the attention of him and the others.

“Is Hermione coming today?”

“She’ll be stopping by at some point. She wanted to at least say ‘congratulations,’ but she’s been dreadful busy what with the new Equal Rights Department going up soon.”

“And Harry?”

“Basically threw me out of the office,” Ron laughed. “Told me he wasn’t going to stop working, but one of us had to be here, just in case…” suddenly the blue-eyed man looked around suspiciously. The motion was so similar to the look he’d seen on his the fake Professor Moody’s face, that Theodore guffawed without thinking, and immediately slapped a hand over his mouth when the involuntary noise caused every pair of eyes to swivel his way. By his side, Neville chuckled a little, and captured his hand again.

“Tutu wearing trolls, you’re cute!” Ginny exclaimed delightedly, and the table dissolved into good natured laughter. From that point on, everyone seemed more relaxed, and the evening passed pleasantly. They ordered a huge basket of chips, which graced the center of the table with it’s salty, fried deliciousness. Everyone ordered alcohol of some sort, except for Ron Weasley, who looked longingly at Neville’s pint for a couple seconds before visibly gathering his auror persona back around him.

Being sat right next to the infamous Weasley twin, and feeling rather more sociable than usual with a few sips of ale in him, Theodore broached the only topic of conversation he had any knowledge about with George. 

“How’s Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes?” he braved.

Thankfully, George took the subject and ran with it. 

“You mean my fortress of mischief? Angie and I have the place running like a dream! And if dreams are something you’re interested in, we recently added several more Daydream Delights to our line,” when Theodore blanched, George cleverly steered the topic away. 

“Or perhaps you’re interested in something sweeter? Angie’s come up with an entire line of trick-or-treats, and only  _ some _ of them will bite you in the arse!” The couple laughed together, and the way they complimented each other so well made Theodore’s smile turn into something completely genuine. “ _ Or _ ,” George’s voice lowered, and the three of them leaned in together, conspiratorily, “perhaps you’d be interested in the wide range of products we have for our more…  _ adult _ line.” 

He reared back from their quiet bubble, cheeks flaming. George roared in laughter, and Ginny leaned across Angelina to smack her brother’s head, certain he’d done something despite not knowing what it was. Theodore glanced over at Neville, who was blushing as well, proving that he’d been keeping an ear into their conversation. 

“Seriously though, mate,” George addressed him again with an over the top eyebrow waggle. “We take all customers and have no judgements.” Angelina tittered happily against her boyfriend’s side, and the rose in her cheeks was almost certainly due to the alcohol and general merriment of the moment. 

“George,” Ginny scolded. He looked at her with eyes wide in a practiced look of innocence. Her look said she didn’t buy it for a second.

“Hello, love.” Hermione Weasley, hair trapped back in an austere bun, settled in the seat between her husband and Ginny. They shared a quick kiss. “What’s George done this time?”

“The usual mayhem,” Ron gave his brother an indulgent smile. “Have you met Neville’s new boyfriend, Theodore Nott?”

“Pleasure,” Hermione had to stand and stretch across the table to offer her hand, but Theodore took it without (many) reservations. His face was polite, his posture open. He was  _ more _ than his past. If he wanted to be with Neville, and he really,  _ really _ did, he’d have to get past his childhood bigotry at some point.

His voice may or may not have croaked a little when he offered back the same pleasantry, but from the way Senior Auror Weasley smiled at him, it was a start.  And when Neville scootched the shade closer it took to wrap one strong arm around his waist, that last smidge of doubt disappeared. 

“I can’t stay for long,” Mrs. Weasley announced, clear and precise. “But congratulations, to the both of you. I hope to see you around more often,” she added, looking at Theodore.  He smiled and nodded and she smiled back. And everything was just so  _ cheerful _ and everyone was so  _ happy _ and he couldn’t believe how much he’d dreaded coming to this get together. It was an evening that was shaping up to be one of the best of his life! He’d been having a lot of those recently. 

It came naturally to press his lips quickly to Neville’s jaw. A thanks for everything the larger man had done for him, and for everything he had now… things he barely dreamed of. Real friendships that had blossomed as soon as he opened himself up. A heart that beat faster every time Neville was in the same room. Love that filled the dark places with light. Neville startled at the soft touch of lips to bristly jaw, but quickly his features took on a mask of devotion and love as he looked at the smaller man and Theodore all but melted, taking a swig of his ale to hide himself from the curious faces all around him.

Hermione stayed for a few minutes, as promised, and then disappeared back to the ministry. A while later a very much already sloshed Dean and Seamus showed up and practically fell into their chairs. After that, the revelry accelerated. Theodore and Neville nursed their single pints for the entire night, but other than Ron, the rest of the table proceeded to get well and truly trashed. It certainly made things interesting though!

At some point, George managed to sneak something into Ginny’s drink which caused her hair to go curlier than Hermione’s had ever been, and it bunched up around her head like some sort of wild halo! She laughed uproariously, along with the rest of the them, and got George back only minutes later when she, aided by Angelina, snuck a WWW Floating Hearts Concoction into George’s own drink. The redhead was plagued by pink hearts which made kissing noises that floated from his ears and clung to his hair for the rest of the evening. 

“Where’d you get that from?!” he said, a bit too loud. 

“Been keepin’ it on hand since Ballen—Vallen...tine’s day,” Ginny slurred.

On second thought, it was probably all down to Angelina that the potion had ended up anywhere near George’s flagon.

Even Ron had loosened up, and was no longer casting a suspicious eye on every patron that entered the pub. It wasn’t that much later that Seamus and Dean got up and stumbled to the floo, calling out drunken goodbyes, and making exaggerated kissy faces at Neville and Theodore. Ginny was starting to fall asleep where she sat, and Ron provided a shoulder for her to lean on and wrapped a secure arm around her middle when she slumped in her seat. Theodore sat with the lingering warmth of hearty food and good ale and the heated looks Neville cast him every other minute. 

“I should probably get this one back home,” Ron said eventually, and jostled the bleary eyed Ginny. “You ready to call it a night?” he asked Theodore and Neville. George and Angelina were cuddling in their own seats, looking about as entwined as it was possible to be without being indecent. 

Theodore had been not so subtly licking his salted fingers clean, and answered for Neville, whose eyes were glued to his every movement. “I’m ready for bed, if you are,” he said, with a glance at Neville through his lashes.

Ron rolled his eyes at them, but didn’t say anything, merely supported Ginny when they stood up, and half-carried her to the courtyard. Neville opened the brick wall, and while Theodore took a few steps forward, Neville turned back to help get Ginny over the low step between the courtyard and the Alley.

Theodore glanced behind him when he heard Neville’s rich laugh and saw both muscular men struggling with the, by comparison, tiny and very floppy woman between them.

So he didn’t react in time when he heard the low chant of an incantation somewhere in the night. And he didn’t see the spell that hit him, but he certainly felt the nauseatingly familiar magic that wrapped around him and swallowed him. And he thought he felt his hair flutter a little, like the spell had thrown a sudden wind at him. He might have heard Neville shout his name in fear.

But after that he was sucked into a never ending tube of sick  _ wrong _ magic that felt almost like apparition but it was  _ painful _ . It rolled him flat and stretched his insides like taffy and wound him tighter than a corkscrew until everything was black and everything was silent. 

He wasn’t even sure where he was any more. He wasn’t even sure if he  _ was _ any more.


	17. Chapter 17

One second he was laughing, trying to get Ron’s boneless sister over the Alley step. In his mouth was the leftover taste of beer and salt. In his chest was the bubbly feeling of laughter, the warmth of going home with his lover… and then everything was  _ wrong. _ Neville wasn’t sure what clued him in, whether it was the way Ron stopped mid laugh, or maybe it was when he felt that portent pricking at the back of his neck… or maybe he didn’t even realize it was happening until he heard the dark chant start behind him. Either way, Ginny was forgotten, left to crumple to the ground, as both he and Ron dropped her to reach for their wands—too late, far too late. He spun in time to see the blue-purple swath of spell light envelop his love… Theodore stood in sphere of brackish and unnatural magic for the span of an instant, face lit with terror.

Then, without a trace, he was gone.

“THEO!”

He moved, stumbled really, toward the place Theodore had stood. Static filled his ears and every breath burned his throat like liquid fire. 

“He was… he was… and I…” Neville couldn’t even remember the last time he had cried, didn’t even realize there were tears coming down his face until one dipped into the crease of his mouth and he tasted the tang of salt. It only served to make him remember the crisps they’d just eaten, and Theodore’s bold look when he’d licked salt off his fingers just minutes ago. It opened a floodgate of memories. Every mental picture he’d been hoarding since the day he’d first seen him… sitting at his desk, a calm look on his features as his quill moved frantically across parchment, robes wrinkled, hair mussed, eyes bright, lips still wet from the tea that seemed always present at the lithe Unspeakable’s desk. Gone… all gone.

Crushing hopelessness and despair descended faster than he could blink. He gasped for air, and desperately looked for something to give him strength… finding nothing.

“—ille…  _ Neville _ … NEVILLE!” Ron shouted at him from a space between two buildings across the street.

“What, Ron?” His voice was hollow, dead.

“Come here.” The redhead was using his auror voice. It was probably the only reason he was functioning. Merlin knew,  _ Neville _ wasn’t.

Neville turned away from where Theodore had been, wrenching his eyes around, and trudged over to the space between the buildings. Then, he saw what Ron had noticed and his lips bared in a snarl as new life came to him. 

“Is that  _ him _ ?! THAT’S HIM ISN’T IT?! YOU!—You _ took _ him from me!”

He attempted to lunge at the man who lay collapsed in between the high brick walls, but Ron put out a strong arm to keep him at bay. With his other hand, the Auror cast a series of diagnostics on Theodore’s attacker, and then cast a noninvasive restraining ward around the unconscious man’s figure.

“There’s something wrong with him. Do you think Theodore managed to get a spell off before—”

“I know  _ exactly _ what happened to him,” Neville snarled. “What did you do to my  _ boyfriend _ ?! I’LL FUCKING _ KILL _ YOU!”

*

Theodore didn’t know where he’d been transported to, but it was dark… black as pitch. He couldn’t see anything. He couldn’t see his hand, and actually smacked himself in the eye when he brought it close in hopes of viewing  _ something _ . He patted down his robes, and found his wand in the large inner pocket where he’d stashed it that morning.

What kind of  _ fool _ doesn’t disarm a person after capturing them. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to do magic for two more days—except for an emergency. He thought this qualified as an emergency.

His hands shook a little as he tore the wand free. And the black… pressing in on all sides, filling his eyes and his ears and on his  _ skin _ ! Where was the light?  _ Where was the light _ ?!

“ _ Lumos _ ,” he gasped, half desperation and the other half determination.

The darkness stayed complete… no blessed light shone from the tip of his wand.

“ _ Lumos _ .” His voice shook.

For all the good it did him, he might as well have been holding a stick. An ordinary stick, nothing special about it.

_ “Lumos _ .” He couldn’t see. He couldn’t see! Where was he? Why couldn’t he see? 

“ _ Lumos _ .”

*

“Neville, _stop_ _this_ before I have to restrain you!” Ron shouted into his ear. Neville frothed at the mouth, glad for the opportunity to funnel his feelings into hate towards this… this cowardly… _fucking_ … _loathsome_ … _animal_! But he didn’t want to be restrained, didn’t want to be shifted off to some beige cool-down room while Ron investigated what had happened. Some foolishly desperate for hope part of him needed to be _here_ … needed answers! So he took a few steps back, wrenched himself away from the man lying crumpled in the alley, and gathered his wits about him. He had to scrub his face with the end of his sleeve a few times before those _wretched_ tears stopped falling. Then, careful not to look at the fallen criminal, he faced his friend.

“T—The-o…” he stumbled over the name. “He, um… he had a host plant… I attached it to his person a few days ago.”

Ron, bless him, didn’t judge. Didn’t say anything in fact, merely looked at him with understanding and sympathy in his eyes. No pity, the auror was too good at his job to allow that to show.

“It’s called The… well… it basically protects the host… so  _ that man _ !” All of his fury resurfaced and his eyes burned as anger coursed through his veins, heating him where he felt numb, causing tears to prickle his eyes once again. “He’s paralyzed… but he can still hear us… CAN’T YOU, YOU  _ MOTHERFUCKER _ ! YOU’RE GOING TO BURN EVEN IF I HAVE TO TAKE YOU TO HELL MYSELF!”

“ _ Neville _ ,” Ron warned. 

He dropped his eyes again. He couldn’t look at _ him _ if he wanted to tell Ron what he knew. He breathed erratically through his nose for several breaths before he knew he was able to speak without murderous intent. “It won’t hurt him… It’s a non lethal paralytic… it’s, um… intended to give the host time to flee whatever is attacking. The plant, it, uh… must have reacted to the threat… at the same time the sp—spell was cast.”

Ron ignored the way he tripped over his words, the gasping breaths he took between phrases.

At that moment George and Angelina came running out—Ginny must have crawled her way back into the pub—George took one look at his younger brother and Neville and ordered his girlfriend to watch the brick wall and not let anyone through. He began cordoning off the area with a series of spells. Ron gave a slight start when he saw George doing an Auror’s job—perhaps he hadn’t been as unaffected as he seemed—then conjured his jack russell  _ Patronus _ .

“I need four aurors to report to the entrance of Diagon Alley for containment of a crime scene and apprehension of an offender.”

The silver dog spun in a circle once and then disappeared from sight faster than Neville could blink.

“When will he regain consciousness?” Ron asked, still focused on the information Neville contained.

“He’s conscious right now…” Neville answered, and all at once the fight went out of him. His shoulders slumped, his arms trembled. Theodore was  _ gone _ . He had been feet away, and now he was  _ gone _ . “But I assume you’re asking when he’ll regain function of his limbs… should be a couple hours.”

Four simultaneous pops broke the silence as Aurors Apparated to the scene. Ron quickly directed two of them to take over for George, and his brother immediately stepped to the side and began twirling his wand nervously. One of the Aurors came running to where Neville and Ron stood, hair disarrayed, glasses transfigured into a pair of on the job goggles—Harry.

“You got him?” Harry asked.

“Right there,” Ron pointed to the side, and Harry’s gaze followed, hardened with hatred to rival Neville’s own. Harry tore his eyes away and looked at Neville, no doubt taking in sallow skin, and wet and hollow eyes.

“He got—” Harry started.

“Yes.”

“ _ Fucking  _ hell…”

“I need you to take him back, lock him up, make sure he doesn’t have any more nasty tricks up his sleeve—or anywhere else for that matter. Try to get him identified, would you?” the redhead ordered his friend.

“No need,” Neville chimed in. He’d been looking at the paralyzed man, trying to restrain his fury, barely succeeding. But something about that first glance earlier had struck him as familiar, and he’d needed to make certain… “I’m pretty sure he’s an Unspeakable. I’ve seen him a couple times—”

“Impossible,” Harry interrupted. “All ministry workers have to register their magic when they’re hired.”

Now he was certain, and with that certainty, even more fury boiled within him. The man who’d stalked his lover’s every step had been only a few offices away from them every time they went in to work! Neville could barely speak when he ground out, “not the Unspeakables, Harry. They work on Magic’s most potent secrets, so the ministry never registers an Unspeakable’s magic anywhere but within the Department of Mysteries itself.”

“Dammit, you’re right!”

“Mate, you need to get him into a holding cell,” Ron repeated, and this time Harry nodded, and stepped toward the fallen foe. After a few more binding and searching spells, Harry apparated them both back to the ministry.

“Senior!” one of the Aurors called out from the middle of the road.

Ron reacted in an instant, eyes scanning for threats, wand held loose and ready in a sure grip. His eyes came to rest on a point on the ground where his subordinate crouched, and Neville’s eyes were quick to follow. The young female Auror was in the process of reaching out.

“Whatever it is don’t  _ touch _ it, Tuft, for the love of magic!”

The Auror, Tuft, snatched her hand back quickly and backed up a few steps.

Neville followed Ron over, a thready eagerness beginning to wind its way through the grey depression and hopelessness surrounding his heart. The Auror was pointing at the exact spot Theodore had disappeared from.

“Hmm,” Ron said, staring at whatever the Auror had noticed. It took Neville a few moments to even locate it… the unassuming black cube, about the size of a di, blended into the cobblestone street… but when he did—

“He’s been transfigured?!” He lunged forward, hope pulsing bright through his body! His wand was already out, an incantation on his lips, when Ron cast the Full Body-Bind Curse on him, and he fell to the ground with a familiar thud. Ron rolled him up onto his back, a look of apology on his face.

“Sorry, Nev. But until we know  _ exactly  _ what  _ that _ is,” he pointed at the grey cube, “I can’t allow any magic to be cast at it. What if it’s not a transfiguration, and your counter-spell had clashed horribly with whatever magic it is? I’m going to send you back to the DMLE to calm down. We’ll talk as soon as I get things wrapped up here.” Neville glared at Ron as best he could from his frozen features. The redhead took a button out of his breast pocket, placed it on Neville’s forehead and said, “this is just like magic.”

The Portkey sensation caught him somewhere around his ribs, and jerked him away from the scene. The last thing he saw was a rather nostalgic looking smirk on his friend’s face.

*

He couldn’t count the number of spells he’d tried to perform, and still the darkness pervaded his every second, swallowed every sound he uttered. More than a few times already he’d second guessed himself.  _ Had _ he said that last, or had he merely thought it? It wasn’t as though there was any way to tell, except to rely on his memory.

Memories were another thing he tried not to dwell on. Not when with every moment consumed by sticking blackness, the phantom of his father tickled at his senses. He twitched helplessly, and there was nothing to ground himself on. 

He laughed into the darkness, a taad manically. Nothing to  _ ground  _ himself on!

Of course he couldn’t! As far as he could tell, there wasn’t even a ground to begin with—or even walls! Or a ceiling! He’d stretched his toes and craned his neck and reached his fingertips every which way. He’d even done a few doggie-paddle type movements in whatever this…  _ space _ … was. There was nothing to touch here but the fabric of his clothes and his own skin. Like he was floating in a pool of shadows.

…

…

“ _ Lumos _ ?” Utterly hopeless.

…

…

_...Theodore…  _

What the fuck was that? “Is someone there?” His voice trembled. He was amazed he wasn’t parched yet. He’d been doing quite a lot of talking… though always to himself.

“Hello? Can you let me out… please!”

…

“I need the bathroom!” It was a lie. He hadn’t felt the need to relieve himself yet. But he  _ would  _ like to know who had captured him.

“Why have you done this? I can give you money! Not a lot, but there was a bit left over after the war reparations, and I’ve saved a fair amount since becoming an Unspeakable!”

…

“You left everyone else alone, right? You didn’t—you didn’t go after anyone but me, right?” Neville was safe… of course he was. It was  _ Neville _ !

He began to feel foolish, shouting into the nothing where no answers came back to him. Maybe he hadn’t heard anything in the first place. It was just the darkness… just the darkness playing tricks and fooling his senses. There was nothing out there but the inky blackness.

He closed his eyes tight, and presses the pads of his palms over the eyelids hard, watching the patterns that swirled on the insides of his lids. It was better this way. This way he could pretend he wasn’t alone in the dark.

*

Fortunately, Neville had only lain immobile on the floor he’d been transported to for several minutes before someone came by and performed the counter. That didn’t mean he wasn’t pissed though. He was. Very. He had half a mind to go back to Diagon Alley and curse Ron to hell and back before finding out everything there was to know about the cube they’d found. 

However, he had a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Hermione, telling him that if he did he was likely to get benched from this case entirely. And that would be unacceptable.

So he went and found Harry, who was behind a one-way Viewing Wall with the barely conscious attacker. He watched as Harry’s questions got nowhere, and the chained down wizard stayed completely silent—even going so far as to close his eyes. Harry grew increasingly frustrated and Neville became thankful for the barrier as the wildness of the savior’s untamed power pulsed around the short-statured wizard. Things  _ may _ have even gotten bloody, had not a nervous looking Auror entered the room with a sheaf of parchment which distracted Harry from his rage. 

Neville watched as his friend read through the parchment and smirked, glaring at the chained wizard once more.

“We’ll just go see what your residence can tell us then… Unspeakable Travers.”

At this, the man’s eyes finally opened, and he leveled his own glare back at Harry.

After that it hadn’t taken much. A little bit of cajoling, and a carefully timed puppydog look and Harry agreed to take him along.

*

_ … Theodore _ …

There it was again! This time he’d definitely heard something. Definitely!

On instinct he’d opened his eyes again. Straining to see. Useless. Useless. He shut them again.

… 

He wished his brain would just stop! But it was a constant maelstrom of thoughts that never stopped and never slowed. Practicing Occlumency helped for a short period of time, but he could never maintain the concentration for long, and then the memories of times before rushed in, or his thoughts swirled in neverending circles.

The one that wouldn't leave him now was that he should definitely be thirsty by now. There was no way to tell time, but it seemed like hours and hours had gone by, maybe even days. And yet, no thirst parched his mouth.

_ … Father  _ will _ find you, Theodore… in time father always finds you… _

Instinct had him trying to whirl about in his dark prison, searching, always searching and running from the owner of  _ that _ voice.  In the end, he wasn’t sure if all his flailing had caused him to move at all. He couldn’t feel or touch anything, couldn't see or taste or smell  _ anything. _ He probably couldn’t hear anything either. It was no wonder spectres from the past were cropping up, here where he had little else to think about. Even knowing that, the combination of too many childhood phobias closed his throat and the gorge in his stomach rose and he closed his eyes to try to will away the panic.

“FUCK YOU!” he screamed. “GET OUT OF MY HEAD!”

*

“Well this place isn’t creepy,” Harry said when the Ward breaking team had finally taken down the… pretty nasty wards surrounding the property of Unspeakable Travers. They had to search through the moor’s thick undergrowth before they found a trapdoor disguised as a moss covered rock among the ancient ruins of an old castle, and then they entered a veritable dungeon. It was an apocalypse fearing wizard’s wet dream. They descended into what must have at some point been the fairly extensive dungeons of the ruined castle above. Eerie, flickering torches lined the cool walls. Passages and hallways spread in every direction. 

They stumbled upon the bedroom soon enough, in a converted dungeon cell. The bed was the only object in the room not covered in scrolls of parchment. Theorems and numbers lined every wall and heaps of notes and research lay strewn in every direction. Neville couldn’t make hide or tail of it, though he knew if Theodore was here, the brilliant wizard would have dived right in. The thought was painful.

Harry shuffled around the room, gathering the papers into a sack he carried for analysis back at the DMLE. Neville wandered over to a dark, solid cupboard set snugly against the stone wall. It looked like the sort of thing potioneers kept their ingredients sorted in, and he would know, as Unspeakable Belby had two of the gloomy things in his large office. The doors needed an  _ Alohamora _ to open, but open they did.

“Harry…” he choked out. “Harry, what is this?”

The Auror was at his side in an instant, and he heard Harry’s sharp intake of breath when the green eyed man saw what the cupboard held.

Each shelf held almost a dozen evenly spaced small grey cubes… each cube looked exactly alike… each cube looked exactly like the one that had been found where Theodore disappeared. Beneath each unassuming cube there was pinned a carefully placed nametag.

“Stanley Shunpike… Lucius Malfoy… Draco Malfoy… Broderick Borgin… Gregory Goyle…”

He couldn’t read any more. It was too heinous. Too many names, too many innocents or reformed characters had been targeted and eliminated by  _ one _ man!

He turned to Harry, only to see the grim smile on his friend’s face.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s hope,” Harry answered, still looking at the names in front of them.


	18. Chapter 18

“Hey, can you take these back to the Research Division while I finish going through everything here?” Harry handed Neville a leather satchel overstuffed with the work from Travers’ bedroom. They’d been wary about doing much with the labeled cubes found in the cupboard, especially after the way Ron had reacted with the Auror whoxc tried to touch the one in Diagon Alley. To be honest, he knew that there wasn’t much more in these dungeons that would really pertain to the case.  _ Harry _ might be able to find some interesting stuff—build a sort of character makeup from examining how Travers lived—but Neville still wanted to be where the action was at. Staying with the research would probably be a good start.

So he accepted the satchel and apparated back to the ministry.

*

It wasn’t cold and it wasn’t hot. It wasn’t humid. It didn’t smell. It didn’t  _ sound _ . And, of course, it didn’t  _ look _ like anything either.

The not knowing was going to drive him  _ actually _ around the bend! If only he could feel the outline of his prison. If only he had some rough idea of where he was. Useless wand. Useless eyes. Useless hands. Useless ears. Useless. Useless.  _ Useless _ .

... _ useless _ …

Oh  yeah, and then there was that. The echo of his memories bouncing back at him from out of the nothing. His father’s voice, taunting and probing. He kept it at bay with images of Neville. Recalling warmth and goodness and  _ love _ . The feeling was still heady, even here. 

If he thought back far enough, he could remember a time… a time of small hands and high counters… forts made by crouching under tables… and his mother’s voice… and his mother’s love… 

He’d known love back then. 

But it had been  _ years _ until he’d felt it again. And then Neville had brought love back into his life with the crashing of a thousand waves upon the barriers he’d built up. He didn’t stand a chance. He never had. He’d  _ let  _ the force of love tear his walls down. He’d gladly watched it happen. Gave into it. Lost himself in it.

Fucking  _ love _ . Beautiful, brilliant, helpless  _ love _ . Of all the fucking things.

He concentrated on the feeling.  Curled up a little, hugged his arms around his knees. Closed his eyes.

It helped for a while. The darkness wasn’t so black for a moment. For just a little while… it would be fine.

… 

*

The Research Division of the DMLE was a lot more organized than Neville had imagined. Magically expanded file drawers lined an entire wall, and the four desks inside the room each had their own style of uncluttered OCD-like efficiency to them.

“Er, Harry sent me with some of Travers’ work?” he asked when he entered.

One of the Researcher Aurors raised her hand without looking up from what she was reading, and one brisk flick of her wrist had him walking over to her. Her desk had a rather beautiful, enchanted silver desk organizer that looked a little bit like a muggle ferris wheel, with little ornate boxes in place of passenger gondolas. Each box had a curlicued letter of the alphabet on it. 

He stopped in front of her desk and waited until she put a final mark upon the sheaf of parchment in front of her. A swish of her wand, and the parchment rolled and tied itself into a scroll. The box marked “ _ F   _ ” on the ‘ferris wheel’ opened, and the scroll disappeared with a flutter of paper into the too-small opening. Ah, space expanded. 

“Hello, I am Researcher McGonagall. Travers’ documents?” The name McGonagall made him start for a second, as if he expected to see her morph into his employer at any moment. When that failed to happen, he had to think that this must be some relative of Headmistress McGonagall, which struck him as decidedly odd, as he’d never imagined the headmistress  _ had _ family.  The way the woman spoke was flat, a complete monotone. The only way Neville knew she’d asked a question was because her eyebrow lifted a fraction when she said the last phrase. The petite woman swam in her voluminous green robes, and her reddish—do they call that auburn?—hair hung loose around her face. 

“Yes.” he answered her question, still searching for familiar features in the woman’s face… she pursed her lips at him when he didn’t hand over the satchel and he could finally see it! There it was! 

… so weird…

“Do you mind if I stick around?” he asked. “I could help?”

Maybe that last question came out a bit more desperate than he meant it to. She gave him an analysing look before slowly nodding and conjuring a chair at the corner of the desk. 

“You can sort,” Researcher McGonagall said, still in monotone, “newest to oldest if you please. And hand it off to me as soon as you’ve ordered it.”

Pleased to have a job, feeling that  _ hopeful _ warmth still swirling in his chest ever since Harry’s proclamation, he settled in.

There was a  _ lot _ of parchment in the satchel. The task suddenly seemed more daunting. It continued to seem so as he went through pages and pages of runes and numbers, symbols he didn’t even recognise. Convoluted theories and algorithms. His head hurt. He was not made for this sort of thing. Fortunately, it wasn’t too hard to sort them all by age. 

By his side, McGonagall diligently studied the pages he handed off to her, every now and then placing one to the side with a pinched look.

He was about half way through the pile when he stopped in surprise. He held a page with a writing style distinctly different from the style on every page he’d sorted so far. To check, he held the parchment up to the pile of unsorted notes, and it was instantly apparent that the paper he held had not been written by Travers. But it seemed… familiar.

He scanned the page. Something about the setup of the equation, the phrasing of the notes… And then he felt immeasurably stupid when he looked again at the top of the page and saw the very small, printed words at the top, identifying the parchment as:  _ Department of Mysteries: Space Office _ .

He saw  _ red _ ! He quite literally saw red as everything clicked and he  _ knew _ who had written these notes! Common sense and rational thought left his brain. It was too soon to Theodore’s disappearance, and it had been too long since he'd last slept. All the  _ rage _ and  _ frustration _ , and  _ helplessness _ simmering quietly under his skin boiled furiously and overwhelmed him to the point where he stood abruptly, striding quickly for the door.

“You can’t take that with you.” Researcher McGonagall’s droll voice was raised in volume, but not liveliness. He flung the crumpled parchment in her direction. He wouldn’t need it,  _ that _ man would confess to his guilt without!

*

This place was too fucking weird! Everything about it was weird! He’d spent hours thinking about it. Well, he assumed it had been hours. It’s not like there was any way to tell the time. But with nothing but his own mind for company for far too long… 

It had merely allowed him more and more time to discover the absolute  _ weirdness _ of his prison. First of all, he couldn’t sleep. He’d tried. Kept his eyes closed, regulated his breathing, cleared his mind… no matter the trick his eyelids opened as easy as blinking every time, and the steady weight of sleep refused to descend. Second, were the certain… bodily functions… It was definitely strange that he hadn’t felt the urge to  _ piss _ in all this time! Neither was he hungry! Or thirsty! It was like his body didn’t need  _ anything _ !

This whole place was…  _ unnatural _ …

*

“Hello, Mrs. Foster. Do you mind if I step through for a moment? I need to talk to your husband about Theodore.” Keeping the calm façade was more difficult than he imagined, and he was sure Mrs. Foster caught some of the tightness in his eyes. Nevertheless, she expanded the floo connection to let him through, the worry evident in her face.

“Has something happened?” she asked before he pulled all the way back in preparation for entering the fireplace.

“Theo’s gone,” Neville answered. And the single phrase was enough to make her step hastily to the side, a pained look settling across her features.

During the whirling sensation of being transported from one locale to the next, Neville thought about how easily Theodore affected the lives of others. He didn’t seem to realize it himself, but he’d made connections. People  _ cared _ for him. This woman, who had only recently become a figure in his boyfriend’s life, had made a place for him in her own. Even Ron, who was famous for his professionalism in the Auror field, had been knocked off center by Theodore’s disappearance.  Wherever he went, Theodore caused people to open their hearts to him… it just made this betrayal that much more grievous.

He stepped over the hearth, brushing by Mrs. Foster quickly and heading in the direction she pointed. He found Foster stumbling around in his bedroom, a pair of trousers on, his robe laid over the bed, and his nightcap still covering the salt and pepper hair. Neville inconspicuously cast Locking and Silencing charms at the door.

Of course, Foster saw him do it, and was instantly wary. 

“Longbottom?”

He didn’t get any further. Neville pushed the older man up against the wall, an arm at his throat, his wand pointed at the older man’s forehead. Finally, something he could do! Some way to alleve that constant roiling pressure that had been trying to explode out of his body ever since he watched Theodore warp out of existence.

we

“We found your notes, Foster,” he growled. He wanted to throw a punch, wanted to press his solid arm into the delicate man’s throat… chasing vengeance… even with the way his mind was lost to dangerous emotions, he was able to recognise that acting without thinking often lead to unforeseen consequences. He loosened his press on the man’s throat. Stepped back slightly and took a deep breath, but kept his wand trained between the man’s eyes.

“My notes? What? What notes? Neville?”

It seemed Foster had finally caught up to the situation… in some aspects…

“Your  _ fucking  _ notes, Foster! We found them with all of Unspeakable Travers’ research after he got Theo with his crazy fucking  _ spell _ !” Neville was almost frothing at the mouth. It felt  _ so _ good to let some of his anger be directed at someone… finally.

“My… my notes, you mean…  _ oh, no _ …” Foster looked stricken. His entire stance hunched in and he suddenly looked much smaller.

Neville took a step back, suddenly horrified with himself. He’d barged in here like some sort of animal, pushed a half clothed, elderly wizard up against a wall with brute force. All based on a single piece of evidence. What had he  _ done _ ? He suddenly remembered the day in Theodore’s office where he’d sat next to Foster’s desk. He remembered the Missing Confidential Report, filled out and heavy with red words on the desk surface. Remembered Foster’s rueful smile when the blue eyed wizard saw him looking.

_ Fuck _ . He backed up another few steps, mind going over his own insanity. Berating himself.

“Travers…?” It came out as a croak from the wizard still slumped against the bedroom wall. “ _ Unspeakable _ Travers…?”

“Yeah. Harry’s got him chained up back in the holding cells. And all his paperwork is at the Research Division, along with a page of your notes…”

“I need to see it. I need to see what he was doing with the Apparition Equation.”

“Is that what that was? How serious is this?”

Foster took a deep breath, pushed off the wall, approached the bed with his robe on it. “It could be bad. It could be very,  _ very _ bad.”

*

This place… it was a puzzle he wanted to understand. The  _ wrong _ feeling of it… it was the same as that of the spell that took him here. Why were the two connected?

And not only that… but something about this situation was pulling at his brain… he felt like there was a connection trying desperately to come together, and if only he could focus!

… only focusing was proving to be pretty damn difficult… he’d started seeing little… little lines of light from the corners of his eyes, even when they were open… especially when they were open. They were… distracting to say the least… Every time he swiveled his head to look, to follow, to search out, the line of light would be gone… and then there it was again…

More often than not, these quick flashes of light terrified him, calling to mind the way spell light shoots out of darkened places bringing pain, and fear, and unknown things… bringing him  _ here _ … to this  _ hellish _ place…

“One time when mummy was very little…”

Talking seemed to help. And straining his mind to remember the warmth of whispered stories told by his mother definitely helped. Something about the strain, the focus required… it was a distraction from the unending nothing he was surrounded by. 

“... she found a cat and she called it Gershwin… and Gershwin was a secret cat, because Grandmother was… allergic? Yes, that’s right, Grandmother was allergic, that’s what she always said. And so after playing with Gershwin out in the gardens, mummy always had to go to the stream and wash off her hands and her arms. And one day Gershwin followed mummy to the stream… and there was a… there was a… a Grindylow! There was a Grindylow lying in wait under the water! Yes! And it pulled mummy right under the second she placed her hands in the water!”

He kept his eyes closed while he told the story. Forced the images to appear in his mind as crystal clear in quality as he could make them. Not flashing lights here! Nothing but memory!

He almost felt silly, using the child-speak his mother had told the story in. But it was  _ far _ better, this silly feeling, than the feeling he got when he opened his eyes and became lost in the black.

“Fortunately… fortunately the stream was shallow, only about three feet deep, and mummy got her feet on the bottom and wrestled hard with the grindylow that tried its best to drag her under! The water dwelling creature reached up… tangled its spindly fingers in mummy’s braid, dragged her face into the water. And mummy couldn’t breathe, and there was no one there but Gershwin. She broke the surface of the water once! Twice! Called for help! Yelled for Gershwin to come and save her!”

He  _ hated _ this place. He hated it.  _ Hated it! _

“Gershwin didn’t come. The traitorous cat stepped away from the stream’s edge, away from the splashing water of mummy’s struggles. And that’s when mummy knew she couldn’t hope someone would come by and save her. She reached back for her braid, found the Grindylow’s brittle fingers and  _ squeezed _ ! She squeezed her hands and wrenched her head back and forth, and she felt the fragile bones of the Grindylow’s fingers  _ snap _ under her strong grip. The Grindylow screamed, and raked its other hand at mummy’s face, but mummy was already kicking back out of the water, her foot caught the creature across the face and the Grindylow fled with a squeal of anger! Mummy dragged herself to the shore, coughed up some nasty stream water and glared at Gershwin who…’

“Damn, she always said this a certain way. Gershwin… um, he…  _ sat calmly _ and stared back at her for a moment, before he stood up and walked away without a single backward glance at mummy, who had fed him, and petted him, and made him a sleeping place of blankets in the garden shed.’

“When mummy got back to the mansion, wet and miserable, the whole story came out. Grandfather was so upset he couldn’t speak, and Grandmother shed a tear (which is something Grandmother never,  _ everejsskajaj cool.1 Q _ does). Grandfather went to the stream and killed the Grindylow, and then he had all the House-elves punish themselves for failing to protect the Little Lady of the mansion… and, of course, the House-elves were distraught at their failure, and more than happy to twist their ears and slam their noses into the walls. And then he took mummy out to the shed, and she stood there while Grandfather killed Gershwin, and she didn’t cry. Because Grandfather said that if mummy didn’t cry he would buy her a beautiful owl in time for Hogwarts… and he did.’

“But the most… the  _ most _ important part of this story, is that it has a moral. And the moral is: Never rely on anyone but yourself to get out of a bad situation.”

The story was over. It made him happy, and it also made him sad…

… He opened his eyes and saw a flash of light and he flinched violently… 

“This is the story of how mummy met daddy. It was a pre-arranged marriage, like all good marriages are…”

*

“You alright, Neville?” Ron asked when he entered the Research Division. Ron looked about as haggard as Neville felt… and, no doubt, also looked. Neither of them had gotten any sleep for the past… thirty hours-ish… and Theodore had disappeared eighteen hours ago. Not even a full day, and it felt like a life-time had passed.  

Neville sat in a chair against the wall, feeling useless. McGonagall and Foster bent together over the papers on the desk, muttering to each other, writing their own notes as they went. He grunted a non-answer, but Ron seemed to accept it anyway.

“You should try to get some sleep,” Ron said gently.

“ _ You _ should try to get some sleep,” he muttered back. He was behaving like a juvenile, has been for some time now. The redness of Foster’s throat where his arm had pressed forcefully has faded away, but Neville could still remember. He’d made more than one bad decision today.

Ron grimaced at him, it seemed like neither one of them was capable of sleep right now.

“Maybe in a couple hours?” Ron asked.

“We’ll see.” It was all he could give.

Ron conjured his own chair, and they both sat, watching the two people work away at Travers’ spell designs.

“Hey, Ron.” If Ron was shocked at McGonagall’s lack of formality he didn’t show it. Perhaps being rude was just a part of her colorless speech. “Your wife is some sort of genius, right?” Again with the eyebrow raise instead of inflection at the end of the sentence. It was almost creepy how at odds the Researcher’s expressive face was with her flat tone. 

“Brightest of her age,” Ron reported, at once like he’d said it a thousand times but also with obvious pride.

“We’re probably going to need her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was messing around on Pottermore the other day and when reading about Minerva McGonagall's childhood, found out she had two magical brothers who both fathered at least one child! Imagine my surprise! I was so enthralled by the idea that I had to put one of their children into my story!


	19. Chapter 19

No one was getting anywhere.  Hermione was having a hard time keeping up with Foster’s level of knowledge. Researcher McGonagall had to decode everything before it could be used. And Foster had already admitted that the work they’d done on the Apparition Equation was basic, at best. Harry and Ron had hoped that breaking Travers down would be easier, but it was hard to get anything out of a raging  _ lunatic _ . How he’d managed to hide his insane idolatry of the late Dark Lord Voldemort was anyone’s guess. He wasn’t hiding any of it now though. 

“You think you can come in here and sway me with your  _ filthy _ Light ways,  _ ch _ !” The last noise was accompanied by a nervous spasm of Travers’ face muscles. “With your  _ lies _ and hopeless devotion to a false way of life?!” 

Neville stood in front of the one-way Viewing Wall, watching Travers spit and rattle his chains, watching as the man spewed vitriolic hate and derailed infatuation for all things dark. What he couldn’t understand was why Travers was kidnapping dark wizards when he supported that same agenda.

“I  _ know _ the Dark Lord still lives!”

“THE DARK LORD IS DEAD! I KILLED HIM, YOU—”

That was Harry, cheeks ablaze with self righteous anger. 

“You think I’ll  _ believe _ that! My Master has returned from supposed death  _ once _ already,  _ ch _ !” His face spasmed again. “He  _ is _ immortal! He  _ will _ come again!”

Ron burst into the room just in time. Neville was almost certain Harry was two seconds from wrapping his hands around Travers’ skinny throat.

“I’ve got it,” Ron announced, holding up a crystal stopper of transparent Veritaserum. “Hold his head, will you, Harry?”

Neville figured the two Aurors could have used a spell to stabilize Travers, but going by the feral grin on Harry’s face, Ron’s order had been more for his friend’s benefit than anything else. Travers was already wild eyed. He shouted and squirmed as much as he could against the chains holding him, and his eyes rolled.

Harry stood behind him, and while avoiding the snapping teeth, took Travers’ head in a brutal hold that bordered on sadistic. One of Harry’s muscled arms held the neck in a chokehold while the other pressed achingly tight around Travers’ forehead. If Neville wasn’t mistaken, Harry had even arranged it so that his bony wrist pressed painfully into the captive man’s ear. Neville bared his own teeth in a gross semblance of a smile.

Ron poured the potion down Travers’ throat and Harry stepped back and then returned to his place by Ron’s side while they waited the few seconds for the truth serum to take effect. Ron leaned forward.

“Now, tell us the counter-spell.”

Travers’ laughed, hard and manic and for too long, until the potion cut him off mid-laugh and forced him to answer.

“There isn’t one,” the man spat.

“What does that mean?” Ron asked calmly, well versed with this kind of interrogation, the kind where the person under the potion’s influence would only give up as little information as the serum allowed.

For his part, Neville was terrifyingly close to throwing the nearest chair into a wall. However, that would require a break in his attention, and he needed to hear  _ everything _ Travers said.

“It means I didn’t invent one,  _ ch _ ! Slow, aren’t you? I was supposed to have  _ years _ to develop a counter to my spell. No matter, my Lord is a  _ genius _ who will figure it out for himself!”

Neville had no idea how Ron could maintain his calm appearance. He’d already had to sink back into his chair, hopelessness descending like a dark curtain with every sentence the lunatic spoke.

“Figure what out?!” Harry suddenly broke in. “What have you done with them?!”

“Well,  _ ch _ … I hid my stash of chocolate in Professor Dippet’s wardrobe in third year. My collection of powdered potions is in a china cabinet in my kitchen. I killed Aunt Deborah's two kitties and buried them out—”

Harry groaned with the realization of how open-ended his unwitting question was while Neville nearly pulled his hair out with frustration.

“ _ Where _ is Theodore Nott? And where are the others you cast your spell on?” Ron interrupted the debacle, thankfully.

“You won’t be able to find them anywhere on earth,  _ ch _ !” Travers said with glee, and Neville bit his lip so hard he tasted blood.

Ron, for his part, merely folded his arms while he waited for the potion to force Travers’ answer.

Travers swallowed and his face did another one of those spasms, “ _ ch,” _ and then he opened his mouth… 

*

The masks had appeared some time ago, and they seemed to have no intention of going away. At first it was terrifying, being surrounded by eerily floating Death Eater masks.  They glared at him, the only focus points of white in the infinite dark. He’d closed his eyes and tried to pretend they weren’t there, but every time he opened them again, there they were… and then, some of the time it didn’t matter whether his eyes were open or not. The masks were always there. It was fucking scary… at least, for a while. But Theodore had found that it was difficult for his body to be seized by only one emotion for any particular length of time, and more and more he was starting to think this was kind of… funny? It’s not like the masks were even  _ doing _ anything really, they bobbed up and down and stared at him and he stared at them until…

And now he was laughing…  _ great _ . As if he didn’t already know he was losing it the longer he floated here in this place of  _ nothing _ ! But he couldn’t seem to stop, and his throat and cheeks refused to hurt no matter how loud his mirth or how wide his grin. And time… time was a thing of the past, something from a different life where he’d had color and beauty and  _ love _ . He was laughing so hard he should be crying. Indeed, he felt that wet and dry feeling in his eyes and he felt the cotton ball forming in his throat, but the tears wouldn’t come. So he laughed and laughed and laughed and the Death Eater masks bobbed in the nothing surrounding him and gradually it seemed to him that they started to smile… 

He was hallucinating. He was hallucinating and he couldn’t stop laughing. What was that about not being crazy?

*

“It’s a rather brilliant spell, as I’m sure you’ve realized by now.” Travers grinned smugly at the two Aurors sizing him up. “It does something no one has ever been able to control before… I mean, sure, every now and then the odd witch or wizard has been able to send something into another dimension, but my spell—”

“Another ruddy  _ what _ !” Harry shouted. “They’re in another bloody  _ dimension _ ! And you don’t have a counterspell?!” Neville watched him run suddenly shaky fingers through already messy hair. “What the bloody Merlin fuck—?”

Now he was just cursing for the sake of cursing, though Neville had no grounds to be affronted. His own brain was currently in its own downward spiral, peppered liberally with every swear word his vocabulary owned.

“Continue what you were saying before,” Ron commanded the smirking wizard, who eyed Harry’s breakdown as if it was his own personal triumph. 

“My  _ apologies _ ,” the chained Unspeakable said as insincerely as he possibly could. Neville could quite happily have thrust his thumbs into the man’s eye sockets at that moment. “But as I was saying,  _ ch _ ! Many have sent something to other dimensions before, but never have they devised a way to get their objects  _ back _ …”

Ron looked on, unimpressed.  Travers seemed happy, now that his tongue was finally loosened, to talk about his masterful spell and ingenious plan. A true villain, Neville thought sarcastically.

“I know you’ve already found my anchors.”

At Ron’s narrow eyed look and Harry’s glare of blank confusion the Unspeakable sighed in exaggerated patience. 

“The little metallic hexahedron…  _ ch _ ! The cubes? I’ll assume you either haven’t moved them at all, or you’ve got them under an exorbitant amount of spell latices… ah,  _ ch _ ! The latter, I see… You needn’t have. They won’t react with anything on this plane. Think of them as… think of them as calling cards, each infused with the magical signature of the target and a set of coordinates that only make sense in a dimension different from our own.”

A lot of this talk was going over Neville’s head already, but he understood enough. Understood that whatever the cube was, it was tied to Theodore. Understood that Theodore was trapped somewhere no wizard had ever gone. Or if they had, they’d certainly never returned.

“Okay, alright. We follow you.” Ron, again. “But why did you target these specific people at all? What use can you have for them where they are now?”

“ _ Ch _ ! No use to me. No use to me at  _ all _ ! I’m merely… preserving the army, if you may. When the Dark Lord returns he will not find his followers  _ aged _ and of little  _ use _ ! Instead, he shall find them perfectly preserved. Each locked behind an impossible door, ready to start again  _ exactly _ where they left off.”

“But you didn’t just capture Death Eaters!” Harry exploded. “You cast that spell on people innocent of the last war’s doings!”

“Dark of heart, or dark from family blood, there is little difference,” Travers said dismissively. Neville saw the way Harry’s entire expression warped, his friend obviously having caught a blow where the love for his late godfather resided. Ron must have noticed it as well, because before Harry could  _ actually _ implode, the redhead had directed him to the door of the room and subtly settled him outside. Ron returned to the interrogation, and Neville walked over to sit on the floor next to Harry who had sunk down the wall, one leg bent, the other splayed in front of him, glaring balefully at the one-way Viewing Wall.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the back-and-forth inside the cell. 

“What happened,” Neville said haltingly. “It’s not your fault, Harry.” He reached out a hand and clasped Harry’s shoulder, but it felt awkward with the way his messy haired friend refused to look at him and he soon released his grip.

For even more time there was silence between them, and then finally Harry released a breath that seemed held for too long. “I was too late, Neville.” The raven haired man said sadly, now looking at the ground.

A mean, vicious part of Neville agreed.  _ I know! Don’t you think I know?!  _ An even bigger part of him understood only too well what Harry’s guilt felt like.

“I was too late… for too many people.”

Neville tried to say something and couldn’t. Instead he made a hopeless sort of gesture with his hands and they both returned their attention to the room in front of them. Travers was in the middle of unhappily telling Ron how to decode his work.

“Not that you’ll have any luck,  _ ch _ !” Travers was back to being gleeful. “The only wizard who could  _ really  _ understand what I was trying to do is locked a  _ world _ away!” Not a single one of them failed to realise who Travers was referring to and Neville slammed his fist so hard against the stone floor that the skin scraped off his knuckles, though he barely felt the pain of blood pricking up to the surface over the renewed force of  _ rage _ coursing in his veins.

“There’s more than one wizard working in the Department of Space,” Neville heard Ron say over the roar in his ears.

“Yes,  _ ch _ !” Travers looked right at the wall as though he could see who sat on the other side. “But there’s only one Theodore Nott, isn’t there?”

Neville’s frustrated bellow echoed in the hallway.

*

“AAH!” The blow was more shocking than it was painful. After a seemingly endless time with no outside stimulus, he’d been fairly certain that it was just him and the blackness and his increasingly more vivid hallucinations. But when the dark grey outline of his father had shot a spell at him again he’d flinched out of reflex. He’d expected… well, he hadn’t expected the punch to the gut he’d just received when the spell  _ hit _ him. 

But it wasn’t real!  _ It wasn’t real _ ! He’d read about stuff like this before, read about people experiencing physical hallucinations before. He knew that weak minds were… prone to… 

Damn it all to hell! What was that word again? Why couldn’t he… he  _ knew _ that word!

“ARGH! STOP IT!” he screamed when another spell punched into his shoulder.

He was forgetting things… little things here and there, but his continued occlumency was also a way for him to keep track of the state of his mind… which was slowly degrading. He knew that much. He knew that, and it was like a knife in the gut slowly twisting and maximizing the agony while the only thing he possessed that had any value… the only thing he’d ever took pride of that was his…

His mind… slowly whittling down as he forgot basic words that he somehow both knew and didn’t know. He was only too aware of the fact that soon it would be other things, other thoughts and ideas.

“GO THE FUCK AWAY!” He roared at his imagined vision as another  _ fucking imaginary _ spell flew at him out of the darkness. It missed him, but he swore he could feel the rush of moving air on his cheek. 

His brain was in the process of destroying itself and it was getting harder and harder to  _ think _ . It was so damn difficult to focus. And it was so easy to just sink into the black and let the visions take him where they may…

Desperate, he grasped at Arithmancy, drawing equations in his mind, forcing himself to go through the complexities of solving them. He would have felt victory in that moment, as he watched the grey form of his father fade even closer to black, but he already knew his reality and his fantasy were fracturing and merging together.  Sinuous and stealthy, the darkness pulled him further into its oblivion.

*

The team of three, McGonagall, Foster, and Hermione had completely taken over one of the Auror conference rooms.  They were currently arguing over something, though for the life of him, Neville couldn’t say what it was.

“I’m telling you right now that you have to account for the mass of the object involved in dimensional jump!” Hermione ranted, her voice unconsciously picking up a superior tone.

McGonagall added her monotone repartee. “In this specific equation mass doesn’t matter, since Travers’ equation has compensated for that by inputting density as a factor.”

“But with something this complex magical error would need the two different forms of size in order to—!”

“Ladies,  _ ladies _ !”Foster let himself be known. “Calm the  _ fuck _ down, okay?”

Hermione and McGonagall now sported identical looks of shock. Foster had stopped scribbling chalk on his wall sized slate to turn completely toward both witches.

“I’ve  _ got _ Travers’ equation, alright? It’s a variation of the one Nott and I worked out more than a week ago, which makes  _ me _ the most qualified person when it comes to taking it apart and understanding what it does.  _ You two _ ,” he pointed at them with a white, chalky finger, “would be better off putting those marvelous brains to work by piecing together all the work he completed on the return spell.”

That’s why Neville was here in the first place. The return spell. The only hope he had of ever getting Theodore back. It hadn’t been invented yet, but the three people in this room were working tirelessly to develop one. Although… he’d been running hot for such a long time now, and with only snatches of sleep here and there that he was minutes away from slumbering in the hard-backed wooden chair he sat in.

He felt a moment of shock, followed by gratefulness, when someone in the room transfigured his chair into a sofa, but his eyes were already closing. The chorus of voices continued around him, unabated.

“What the  _ hell _ was that despicable man thinking? Did he  _ really _ think he could preserve his perfect army in a separate dimension?” he heard Hermione say.

“Mmm,” McGonagall agreed. “It appears he didn’t care overly much for the potential ramifications of such an act. Depending upon what Foster finds out about which dimension they were sent to…”

“...possible neurological… even physical damage…”

“Alright, let’s get to work…”

*

He wanted to sleep. Please,  _ please _ ! For the love of magic let him sleep! It wasn’t that he needed it. He didn’t feel tired or drowsy or any of that… but he yearned for an absolution of this unending wakefulness more than he’d ever yearned for anything in his life. If he could have just a small amount of time… just a moment where he could turn off the ever cycling wheel of thoughts that spun constantly in his head. There was no stopping it. Nothing that broke the endless stream. Every trail of thought that filtered through his consciousness, every convoluted turn it took and more and more it was like he wasn’t even in control of his own mind.  He was a twitchy fucked up wreck and for Merlin’s sake… he just wanted to sleep… was that really so much to ask…?

*

When he woke up, there was a warm, furry presence pushing into his side, and he peered blearily down to see a white blur… where Theodore’s kneazle lay curled up into him. The animal had become a fixture in the Auror offices ever since Neville picked him up from Theodore’s gloomy,  _ empty _ manor. He felt much better, hadn’t quite realized how close he’d run himself into the ground with his exhaustion. But now, well rested, and with the buzz of excited people talking around him, he felt more of that enticing  _ hope _ curl in his chest. 

He sat up slowly, trying not to disturb the slumbering feline and failing. Albho glared at him through slitted eyes, before stretching languorously and hopping off the transfigured sofa, padding softly from the room. 

His attention was quickly diverted to the hubbub in front of him. The two witches were gathered in front of a table, McGonagall casting spells, and Hermione fairly dancing with excitement. Foster stood at the wall nearby, copying out endless formulas on a chalk slate wall that was rapidly disappearing under the mass of writing already on it. It seemed much had happened since the time he closed his eyes. Neville rubbed at his unshaven cheeks and ran a hand through the short locks of his hair before standing up and making his way over.

“Was’goin on?” Neville asked the room at large once he was in hearing distance. 

Hermione turned to him, eyes ablaze with excitement. “We’ve copied the first spell!” she enthused, gesturing wildly behind her. Neville’s gaze followed her flailing arm, resting upon McGonagall who had just placed a happily purring Pygmy Puff on the table.

“ _ Carrus Spatium Nodum”  _  Haralda intoned, accompanied by a Lockhartian amount of wand twirling, and ending with a slicing movement at the hapless Pygmy Puff which promptly vanished… and where it had been now sat an unassuming looking grey cube. Neville stared in awe. Hermione beamed. Haralda looked satisfied. Somewhere to the right Foster scribbled. 

“So…” it was an open ended sort of thing. Neville didn’t know where he was going with it, but it seemed Hermione fortunately did. 

“The most difficult part about this spell is that you have to imbibe it with a very strong sense of  _ belief _ ,” she told him. “Much like the  _ Patronus  _ which requires an exceptionally strong feeling of happiness, this Dimensional Displacement spell requires the user to believe wholeheartedly in both the existence of alternate dimensions, and the ability of the spell to perform. I can’t do it  _ yet _ —” and here, the curly haired woman looked heavily disappointed with herself “—but Unspeakable Foster and Researcher McGonagall already seem to have a knack for it!” She gestured at the table once more, and this time Neville took notice of the small pile of cubes heaped to one side. He felt a moment of pity for the hapless fuzzy creatures each cube represented. 

“What does all this mean for  _ Theodore _ , Hermione?” he asked, allowing a hint of impatience to enter his tone.

Hermione didn’t let it faze her. “Typically, counter curses are either complementary or opposite in makeup to the original spell. I find it hard to imagine that a spell would work when disbelief thrums through it, so we’re all guessing that any counter we create is going to have to work on the belief system as well. It’s all terribly fascinating!”

Neville stared balefully at her and Hermione instantly sobered. 

“Sorry,” she whispered.

Foster stepped in front of them, gently turning Hermione back to work with McGonagall. 

“She means well,” the older wizard told him softly and Neville was momentarily stunned by the disappearance of the man’s usually lively demeanor. “I suppose all this new information would normally be fairly incredible. It’s certainly nothing I’ve ever seen before, and you can say what you like, but Travers is by no means a stupid man.”

Neville flinched, and Foster smiled soothingly at him. The older man was starting to look a little ragged around the edges and Neville wondered when Foster last slept.

“We didn’t find much in the notes about how to bring them back after casting the Dimensional Displacement spell, but we  _ do _ have some material to work with. We’re working as hard as we can here, Longbottom. You’ll just need to give us a bit of time.”

Neville nodded, stone-faced. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Foster just smiled at him.

“Find something to keep yourself keep yourself busy. You’re going to drive yourself spare waiting for something that just needs a bit of time. 

“How much time?” he croaked, dreading whatever Foster might say.

“Not as long as it could be,” Foster answered. “Come back in a week and I’m sure we’ll be almost there.”

A _ week _ … Foster was right. It wasn’t as long as it could have been, but it still seemed eternal. Neville thought of Theodore, trapped… alone… somewhere no one had ever been before.

“Do you…” he started. “Do you have any idea… what sort of place he…”

Foster was already shaking his head in denial. 

“It’s impossible to say,” Foster said. His light blue eyes were lit with sympathy and Neville felt his heart clench in his chest. “We can only theorize what it’s like there until we get him back. There’s plenty of theories out there as to what the alternate dimensions are made up of, but I recommend not reading them. At this point, the truth of the matter is that we’ll either get Theodore back… or we won’t.”

He could only blink in shock as Foster’s last words washed over him. Up to this point, everyone had done their best to buoy him up, giving him platitudes and hopeful optimism and no one had dared echo the despair that had ensnared his heart the second Theodore vanished. But what Foster said seemed to shock something loose inside of him, and he suddenly felt  _ angry _ ! How dare the man suppose that Theodore wouldn’t come back! How dare he even entertain such an idea!  Neville had been so… so  _ hopeless _ this entire time. It was wearing him thin, and he didn’t  _ want  _ to feel like it any more. So he embraced this newfound rage. He made the choice to  _ believe _ that Theodore would be returned, because the alternative—well, the alternative was just too horrible to dwell on. After discovering  _ love _ … discovering how deep his feelings lay… he couldn't imagine trying to go back to what life was like before Theodore entered it.

Something on his face must have warned the older wizard to back off, because he quickly returned to his chalk and slate. Neville strode quickly from the room, intent on finding something to do.

He found Harry and Ron buried under massive piles of paperwork and was unable to do anything to help there. Eventually, he made his way to the evidence locker where twenty-some odd metallic cubes lined a shelf. Each was labeled and he made his way to the one on the end of the line. 

Theodore’s anchor. 

The object on the shelf was the only physical representation on this earth that his lover now held. Somewhere else… somewhere alien… Theodore was trapped and alone. He prayed the man would find strength in the days to come.

*

With each endless moment that passed he found things were harder and harder to keep track of. His mind constantly sieved, letting loose shards of knowledge and memory and he struggled to build up defenses against the loose hold he retained.

Merlin, but it was so easy… so easy to slip into that half aware state when he watched his hallucinations play out in front of him. He’d grown used to the idea that they could take on physical representation… though none of the touches were harder than a mild punch. And quite honestly, the soft brushes that felt like ghosts of fabric on his skin were the worst, because they came out of nowhere. No forewarning, no vision coming to life… just the eerie feeling of a soft brush against his skin followed by tingling shivers.

He’d just run through the Greek alphabet and was starting on the English one.

“A, bee, dee, e, ef, gee, aitch, i, jay, kay, el, em, en, o, pee, que, ar, ess, tee, u, vee, double-u, ex, wye, and zed.”

Yes! That sounded right! Then he went through it again, this time counting each letter.

“Twenty-five?” That wasn’t right. He was absolutely positive that the alphabet had twenty-six letters in it. He ran through the letters again, completely sure that he’d said it right, but every time he counted he got the same result: twenty-five. Something was wrong, and there were only two explanations. One, his brain had lost a letter… or two, his brain couldn’t count correctly. He had no idea which it was. 

Terror threatened to pull him under and he forcefully projected an image of Neville into his head. It was the one of him in that ridiculous yellow shirt with the house elves. He forced his mind to recall everything it could. He remembered how delightfully rumpled Neville’s hair had been from jumping out of bed so quickly. How both his shirt and pants were wrinkled because he didn’t bother going to the dresser, instead pulling on whatever had been closest to him. Remembered scarred arms and large hands. Neville’s smile, the one that lit up his whole face and took Theodore’s breath away. The beautiful green-brown hue of his eyes, and how much more detailed they became the closer you got to them. He remembered. He wasn’t going to forget these images, these most precious memories. He wasn’t going to forget Neville! 

Even amidst his newfound determination, the slimy thoughts he’d begun to have slid around the edge of his conscious. He banished them hastily, focusing on the quirk of Neville’s lips, the softness of his mouth, the edge of his jaw, the stubble of his shave. He put a knuckle in his mouth and chewed softly, reveling in the slight zings of pain that  _ proved _ he was alive, but cautious about doing any actual damage. He was alive! He remembered Neville! And he  _ would _ be free of this hell!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this confusing for anyone? I can understand it because it's all clear up in my head, but I'm a little nervous that it doesn't entirely make sense when written out. If you have any concerns at all I'd be more than glad to address them. I will take any and all criticism :) And if this chapter is shot I can always rewrite it.


	20. Chapter 20

Neville had taken a liking to Albho. The feline calmed his nerves in a way little else did these days. Theodore had been gone for a little over a week now… though, he hated to say  _ gone _ . Being gone implied that the person could come back, and seeing as Theodore was quite literally  _ nowhere _ in this universe, it was impossible for his love to do so. He was  _ trapped _ , trapped and waiting for someone,  _ anyone _ to help him return. And Neville was so completely and utterly  _ useless  _ that he couldn’t do a single thing to make that happen! He wasn’t smart enough to help the three geniuses working on inventing a return curse. He wasn’t trained enough to help Harry and Ron with their investigation. He couldn’t listen to Travers pace his cell and mutter about the glory of the dark and the return of the Dark Lord without wanting to break something… or throw up… possibly both. It was  _ horrendous _ , this horrible waiting. But even thinking that made him want to punch himself because he was very much positive that Theodore had it  _ so. much. worse.  _

So, yes, he’d kidnapped Theodore’s kneazle from the Auror headquarters. And, no, he didn’t feel any regret about it. The feline draped its solid, warm weight across his shoulders as it hung off of him in much the same way his grandmother’s fox pelt hung off her neck.  Albho was a very  _ large  _ animal, Neville realized when he went to grab another clay pot and the kneazle’s pure white tail tickled his wrist for a moment. Fortunately, he was a very large man and there was no way in  _ hell _ he was putting the beast down. Something about it reminded him of Theodore  _ forcefully _ , though how the familiar had managed to bond so thoroughly to its wizard in such a small amount of time was a little beyond him. He reached one hand up for a pet and Albho didn’t seem to mind the dirt crumbling from his palms and into the creature’s fur if the rumbling purr was any indication. The plants in Neville’s most benign greenhouse seemed to respond favorably to the animal’s presence as well. He watched as the Black Eyed Susans, with actual eyes blinking slowly in the middle of the yellow petals, followed their progress as he made his rounds.

He was calmer, sure. It was almost like he had his own little headspace here among the plants and bad feelings weren’t allowed. But he wasn’t happy, by any means. He was just… sort of numb, moving between his plants on autopilot. Checking the water levels in various basins and then stopping to make sure the temperature and humidity were in the right parameters (it never hurt to check, as most charms faded in strength with time). But at least here he wasn’t so overwhelmed by hopelessness and fear and sometimes the flat out  _ panic _ that he would never again see the face of the man he’d grown to love! 

He wasn’t thinking of that. He was focusing on his plants, and the steady movement of his hand. He was focusing on the soft, muted, pleased feeling that came from having Albho, a creature undoubtedly important to Theodore, close to his person. He lifted his hand again to rub between Albho’s ears and the kneazle huffed into his cheek and then pressed its cold nose into his temple. 

He would be fine. He could be strong for Theodore. A few more days, Hermione had said. A few more days while they refined the spell and made sure they wouldn’t bring the wizards and wizards trapped in an alternate dimension back in  _ pieces _ … or as  _ mush… _ or as something equally horrible…

Forcefully, he pulled his mind away from those thoughts and it was like wrenching a knife out of his skull. A few more days. He could wait a few more days. He prayed to Merlin that Theodore was holding on.

*

He could feel it. That sliding and horrible thought pushing at all his defenses. 

…

How long had he been here?

…

It felt like eternity. 

The inky dark was constant. It was the only thing that never changed. Even when his hallucinations filled the space in front and behind him he was aware of it. Dark. Dark. Dark. This place was nothing less than the culmination of the very most base of his childhood fear. Most children were afraid of the dark at some point in their lives, and he was aware of himself enough to know that he’d never quite grown out of the phase, but—

_ Now you’re just diverting attention. You know why you’re here. _

…

He put his palms over his ears, unable to help himself. He had less and less control of his body the more time passed. It was a vessel for his mind and it now ran on instinct more than anything… some fucked up form of self-preservation that insisted that if he could hold on for a little longer… just a little longer—

_ You know that’s not going to happen _ .

…

No longer was it his father’s voice whispering in his thoughts, but something… he couldn’t put words to it. It  _ was  _ his father. But it was also his mother. It was his teachers and classmates and… it was Him. The Dark Lord. All and one in a single voice that sounded like it came from a thousand mouths and one mouth all at once.

_ And why is that? _

…

And he wasn’t listening to it. He wasn’t! Because he was  _ going _ to get out! He had to escape, he had to find the way back. There was light and there was Neville and he had… he had just started to  _ live _ . He wanted so badly to live like that again. Feel those foreign feelings beat strong and undeniable through his blood and soul—

_ Never again… _

…

It wasn’t  _ fair _ ! He choked on something… probably emotion… and a thin and reedy whine escaped from his mouth and he couldn’t stop it, was powerless to stop it and even to his own ears it sounded so  _ heartbreaking _ that he wished he was dead.  _ No _ ! Never that! He had… he had to live… there was so much to live for!

_ Don’t be stupid, child _ .

…

“Stop it,” he said, in less than a whisper. But he knew the horrible thoughts heard him. “It’s not fair.”

_ … It never is… _

The answering murmur sounded like a confidante, ready to hear his every secret. Ready and waiting for his bared soul.

“Don’t I get a choice? I get a choice right…? A choice to go back… or to go forward? If I am...” he couldn’t say it. “If I really am… I’m supposed to get a choice…”

_ What makes you think you deserve a choice? _

…

So soft, so gentle, like a mother comforting her child. But the words, the words themselves! So sharp and cruel!

“I’m… I’m not a bad person!”

_ Theodore _ .

…

The tone was reproachful this time, but still gentle.

He sobbed, or at least his body tried to sob. He already knew the tears wouldn’t come. His body didn’t know though, could only wind itself into tight coils and choke on dry tears while his eyes burned beneath his eyelids and his teeth clenched down.

One last ditch effort. The very last, before he surrendered…

“I don’t want—!”

_ Nobody ever wants— _

The voice cut off abruptly and then it was his father again, a charcoal silhouette of slightly lighter darkness that he could see standing in the black

_ Why do you think we followed him? Death Eaters we called ourselves! Eaters of Death! We delivered that final absolution to others but never _ , never _ gave into it ourselves until we’d fought with everything we had, gave everything we possessed…  Because  _ nothing _ is worse than death…  _

And this time it really was his mother, voice soft and sweet and alluring. Full of that painful nostalgia and the only love he’d ever known before N—

_ Nobody ever wants to die _ .

Her beautiful voice filled his head, finishing the thought of the thousand voices from before.

_ But everyone does. Everyone dies. _

“But why am I  _ here _ ?” he whispered. He felt small, smaller than he’d ever felt in his life. Smaller than his scrawny body, too thin, too narrow, could ever be. “I don’t like it here…”

The thousand voices was back, soothing as a crashing wave and terrifying as a god!

_ But this is where you are. And this is what you deserve, isn’t it Theodore?  _

“N-no,” he tried to argue.

_ Yes _ . The thousand voices insisted.

_ You are dead. This is where you are. You are here because you deserve it. _

And then all the thousand voices slid away until only his mother’s was there, talking quiet and serene in the emptiness of his mind.

_ You are dead, Theodore. _

“Mother…  _ please _ …!”

_ No, Theodore. _

“I… I don’t want to—”

_ But you are… _

… 

… 

“Dead…?”

_ Such a brave boy. _

…

*

It was probably presumptuous of him to even be doing this. He felt kind of like an arse even being here. But… he was running dangerously low on things to keep himself occupied. His mind flashed back quickly to earlier in the day, Foster’s apologetic, yet firm, smile as he said, “you can’t keep coming by, Neville. We’re working as quickly as we can, but we can’t afford any distractions or interruptions. The spell we’re working on should only need a few more days before we work all the kinks out of it, and when we’re ready I swear you’ll be the first person I contact.”

It made that gut punched feeling hit him even thinking about it. That’s all he was anymore, a  _ distraction _ for people who could actually do things. And besides, it was just  _ depressing _ hanging about the auror’s office like what he was… a hopelessly desperate man. He saw his strain and misery and bone-deep weariness reflected on the faces of everyone he met. Ron looked like he felt enough guilt to be the one  _ responsible _ for all those disappearances. And the few times he’d seen Harry the wizard had looked nearly frantic, energy and magic so thick around him it was nearly suffocating to be near. And didn’t that just show how selfish  _ Neville _ was that he couldn’t spare two thoughts for the rest of the wizards and witches trapped in alternate dimension hell. No. The only one he cared about was Theodore. The only person he worried and agonized over was  _ his _ boyfriend. And what a shitty boyfriend Neville was! Thinking a secret little plant would protect the love of his  _ fucking _ life?! So abhorrently  _ stupid _ !

It didn’t matter what Ron had to say (“Bloody brilliant, Neville. If it weren’t for you, who knows when we’d have caught the bastard?”). It didn’t matter, did it? Because it’s not like it had stopped the spell from taking Theodore from him in a whirl of sickly purple light.  But he had hope and he clutched it close to his chest with every breath.  _ A few days _ , Foster had said. He’d already waited a week. What were a few days more? And he swore to Odo the fucking Hero that when Theodore got back he would have everything he could ever want waiting for him. 

So he was shopping.

It wasn’t something he did often, but… well, distractions right? He was fairly certain Theodore would  _ not _ want to be confronted by his gloomy, patriarchal, ancient, cobwebbed manor (the only nice areas in that house had been Theodore’s bed and the jazzed up kitchen, okay?). So, sue him for being presumptuous, but he was going to buy anything and everything to make his cottage feel like it welcomed Theodore too! He was shopping. Yes, he was shopping. Kitchen shopping, as a matter of fact.

“Just take a look at this lovely oven,” the shop owner crowed at him. “No need for charms and finicky spells!” he propped open the oven door and Neville took a step back in surprise when the beedy eyes of a dragon glared at him from the bottom. The small dragon was curled into a shallow basin in the lowest part of the appliance and heat rose gently from its grey scales. “Feed him the scraps of whatever you’re cooking! Control the temperature by the amount of food you give him! An interesting topic of conversation! A sensational pet that never does its business on the carpet! This dragon heated oven is something the top chefs of England are clamoring to have!”

“What happens if it grows?” he asked.

The shopkeeper suddenly looked very nervous.

“Er…” Neville spared him from his discomfort. “I was looking for something more along the lines of… a gas stove…?” He remembered in pretty good detail the oven in Theodore’s own kitchen… after all, they’d been standing right next to it when he’d lifted the smaller wizard up onto the counter… where they’d rutted against each other in helpless abandon, aching for more skin, more heat, more, more,  _ more _ !

“Gas, you say?” Merlin, but the shopkeeper was perky for so early in the day. Neville willed away whatever pink had filled his cheeks from the nature of his thoughts. “Right this way, my good wizard, right this way!”

The kitchen in the cottage was horrendously out of date, and it had never bothered him before, seeing as he’d only really had use for the gardens and greenhouses outside. There was a cold cupboard where he kept most of his food, mostly sandwich making supplies and whatnot. But he wanted Theodore to have anything and everything he could possibly want, and he had a pretty good imprint of the kitchen in Nott manor. In between shoving Theodore onto the counter and stripping his robes off and shoving his tongue down the other wizards throat of course.

“That one,” he said, pointing to a yellow painted metal oven with four different gas heated plates on the top. 

“Wonderful selection, sir! Very homey, very domestic. And with an expanded oven space inside!” The shopkeeper opened the oven door and they both poked their heads in.  Neville was reminded a little of child stories where the bad guy gets a fiery demise at the end, but still looked around curiously.  It was big… very big. Seriously, Neville thought he could probably roast a whole ox in there. He was pretty sure Theodore would be able to do something… kitcheny… with this appliance. He’d made that really delicious breakfast thing. Maybe he’d want to make dinners and things too. Maybe he’d want to teach Neville! 

Neville had a sudden mental image of himself standing in the smoldering remains of the kitchen after he blew up a pot of soup like it was a cauldron full of potion. Maybe he would stick to the sandwiches.

The storekeeper was staring at him earnestly though, and he probably should have been answering questions or something…

“How does the gas deal work?” he asked. So eloquent.

The man brightened and ushered Neville around to the back of the oven. There were coils and pipes and all sorts of things that made the (now very scary) kitchen appliance look like something out of an alchemist’s lab. He nodded along while he listened to an explanation of how everything worked. This tube connected to that container which send heat to a sparker which did such a thing. The only part that really mattered was that he feed the oven a gas pellet (super condensed gas! Made manageable for ease of life!) into a little funnel in the back every time the gas storage needed replenishing.

“Wonderful,” he said when he was allowed a word in edgewize. “I’ll take it.”

“And the overhead fan?”

“Er… yeah, sure.”

“We also have a set that this goes along with for everything your kitchen could possibly need? Potato peelers? Clean and Sparkle Counters? Grease-Be-Gone cleaners?”

Neville interrupted before he could get too carried away.  “I think that’s all for now, thanks. I’ll take a bag of those gas pellets though?”

“Of course, of course,” the man led him to the counter to draw up a bill.

*

…

…

…

…

*

There was only one other thing that had really struck him about Theodore. Well, there were infinity and more things that he’d noticed about the entrancing/captivating/beautiful/perfect young man, but there were only so many physical things that he could change about his cottage to suit the other’s needs.  He wasn’t as smart as many of the people he knew—and sharing Hogwarts classes with Hermione had made that incredibly apparent—but he was by no means a stupid man. Waking up alone only to find Theodore in the kitchen with every single candle blazing fiercely even as the sun began to grey the horizon had by no means taken a back burner in his mind. He knew a coping mechanism when he saw it.  He knew he’d be damned if Theodore took up residence with him only to panic at night when he felt caged in by darkness due to the minimalistic lighting in his own home.  So he’d wound up at Madam Lumen’s Lighting Emporium.

The moment he stepped through the door he physically  _ ached _ to have Theodore there beside him if only because it was so  _ beautiful _ ! Glittering crystal of every color reflected thousands, possibly millions of lights from every wall, and the ceiling was stuffed full of countless chandeliers. Each one a symphony of light. Each one unique and exquisite. He was barely a step through the door and he knew immediately that Theodore would love everything about the place. He wondered if the lithe brunette had ever been here, and he could so easily see the thin form winding  through the displays, lit with the glow of so many candles and lighting spells, every angle of his face accented. The picture in his mind was so vivid it hurt and he had to close his eyes for a moment, take a few more calming breaths and remind himself that he would have his love back  _ soon _ before he could open them again. 

There were others in the emporium, though they were as quiet as he was, maybe awed into silence, or just respectful of the almost museum-like quality of the surroundings.

He made his way around, slowly, carefully, taking in every detail. Each reflective glass was a masterpiece. He wanted them all! 

He might have wandered for hours, it was hard to tell whether time was passing, as the store was continually lit from the lights, but he knew what he wanted the moment he saw it. Shaped like a vine, the delicate metal wires twined together like nature itslef had fashioned them into being and at the end of each jutting wire were glass filigree leaves. Each leaf a different size and shape. Each unique and perfect. They ranged from thin and needlelike to broad and flat. But the most beautiful thing about them was that each glass leaf  _ glowed _ with the soft luminescence of a spectrum of yellow he could barely comprehend and he knew, he knew right then that this was  _ perfect _ , and that he would hang them everywhere!

He reached out a hand and traced the delicate spun glass, felt the twining metal of the imitation vines. He couldn’t draw his hands and eyes away. He came eventually to a simple chain at one end of the vine and he tugged gently, curiously. The chain seemed to catch on something momentarily before it gave with a tiny jerk and all the lighted glass leaves on the vine went out. His panic was immediate as he looked in horror at his hand where the innocent chain still lay. He’d  _ broken _ it! 

Seemingly summoned by his obvious distress, a woman appeared at his side. She was very petite, and her gold robes sparkled as the tiny mirrors sewn at intervals into it caught the light with every moment of her body. Compared to her robes and the decor around them, the woman herself looked insignificant and pale. 

Her voice, too, was thin and small. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” she breathed. “See?” then she took the chain from his fingers and gave it another tug. Immediately, the glass leaves brightened. Neville thought he was probably brightening along with them. 

“How…?” he asked. He’d never seen anything like it.

“It’s a new idea…” the woman said, still barely above a whisper but he could hear every word. “Developed recently by myself. I Initially thought it would be useful for children since they don’t have spells and it’s a little irresponsible to trust matches to them. It’s been so popular, though, that I’ve started applying it to more mature lights as well.” She seemed to reflect. “Though, these leaf and vine lights would go just as well in a child’s room as anywhere else.

“But the idea behind it is that the lights can be snuffed and lit using an internal spell and a… a sort of switch built in with the pull of the chain to turn the spell on and off.”

Neville could not be more in awe of this unassuming woman with her dazzling robes. “That’s incredible!” 

She smiled a little smile. 

“Shall I ring you up, then? And for how many?”

“As many as you’ve got,” he told her seriously.

He ended up paying and arm and a leg for the lights, but felt that it was well worth it. He hadn’t felt this satisfied with a purchase since the time he’d managed to find someone with incredibly rare Centaur’s Slipper seeds in stock.

After she shrunk his packages for him he thanked her and returned home, eager to start placing the lights. It took him the next several days to set up the new kitchen and hang the vines throughout the cottage and he went to bed late each night and worked hard all through each day. It was a mostly effective distraction, though Theodore haunted his thoughts. The best times were still when he went out to the greenhouses, Albho winding between his legs or clawing up his trousers while he planted, potted, watered, weeded, trimmed, and often wrestled with or dodged his plants. It was after one such day that he fell nearly exhausted into his bed, barely making it out of his dirt-caked robes before he hit the mattress and fell asleep. The next morning he was awoken to an owl landing heavily on his back (he left the windows open so any news would get to him as quickly as possible). Snatching the letter off the affronted fowl he unrolled it and read the hastily penned words:

_ It’s ready. Hurry. _

_ -Foster _

He didn’t need to be told twice. He was through the floo with barely enough time to grab his robes from the foot of the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geez this chapter was depressing to write. It had to happen though, advancement of the plot and all that. Fortunately the pace is about to pick up again! I can't believe how close to the end I've gotten though. Seems like I started writing this not so very long ago and now it's almost done :)/:(


	21. Chapter 21

…

…

…

…

What…?

A light… a light shining in all the darkness…?

…

He almost turned away… so unsure… but still. A feeling. Something he couldn’t name… burning small and cold, but still alive. Deep, deep in his chest. The light grew bigger… brighter, and he could almost swear that it glowed more that anything he’d seen since coming to this place. It didn’t… didn’t  _ belong _ in this world of shadows. But he wanted it to. 

He raised an arm, almost surprised to feel his body obeying him for once. The flare of feeling in his chest burned steadily, still unnamed. He could… he could  _ see _ his fingers in the brightness of the light! They were pale and long and thin and they were  _ his _ ! And they were lit up by the brilliance beyond! Too much, too intense the simple… simple… j… j… joy! The  _ joy _ of seeing himself! Of course, he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t another hallucination, but it seemed… different, somehow. This time. And the feeling within him uncurled and fed strength through to his arm, and his arm lifted! Straight, strong, the fingers that stretched toward the blissful light almost made invisible by the pure white beam they reached into!

Then it was as though his fingertips felt an edge of cloth and his fingers curled around that solid thing and grasped and held strong. His arm flexed, pulling him forward, and the other arm shot out into the white, dazzling light and latched onto the solidness and pulled! He was pulled with it, he body twisting through an opening that felt fraught with tension. He feared for a moment that it would simply give and snap his body in two. Though what would that matter when he was as dead as he was. The thought gave him an infinitesimal pause. Why would he fight so hard if he was already dead?

But the answer thrummed through him, irrefutable and relentless. Because anything,  _ anything _ had to be better than the darkness!

He fell through, feeling like this was a rebirth of himself, wondering if this was what infants felt like when first entering the world, or if it was how people felt after drowning and then being pumped back into life!

Somehow he got his feet under him and stood, cringing slightly. There was noise wherever he was. The sound of breathing, coming firstly from himself, but also from others. There was also some sort of thrum in the air, and he felt it more than heard it when the portal behind him collapsed, like a slight suction at his back that tried to pull him back in, and then nothing. His eyes were squinted shut, almost to the point of being fully closed, only he couldn’t bear the thought of shutting out completely the stunningly perfect light,  _ light _ , LIGHT that surrounded him! Shapes and then colors slowly began to blur into focus until he could make out a room, a very  _ familiar _ room… nostalgia floated on his tastebuds and into his head, but he couldn’t place anything.

There were people there too. Some were familiar, and some were unsettling and he didn’t understand, he didn’t understand  _ anything _ ! What was this place and what had happened and he almost wished for the darkness to come back for him because at least there he had a chance of coping but everything here was so new and so very, very big! Thankfully none of the people were moving or making noise, but their wide-eyed looks of shock were still incredibly frightening and he just, he couldn’t! He couldn’t  _ breathe _ ! He’d never needed to, back there… and now he couldn’t breath and it  _ hurt _ !

*

When the portal opened he’d been ecstatic, but when Theodore crawled through his euphoria crumbled into shards of ice that turned around and pierced him through. Neville took a step forward, unable to bear the pain and confusion taking center stage on his lover’s face. His movement in the otherwise still room caused Theodore’s focus to snap to him… and the  _ look _ on his face… 

Neville could feel his heart breaking, terror and anguish and horror all overwhelmed him. Because when Theodore turned and looked at him it was the same look he’d seen hundreds of times before. Theodore looked at him out of blank, dull eyes. Not a trace of recognition… or even intelligence could be seen on his face. Theodore looked at him with the eyes of Neville’s mother and father.

In the span of an instant he could see the rest of his life played out before him, where he did his best to survive in a world where his three most important people lived in the Janus Thickey Ward. He saw a beaten down version of himself visiting the three lifeless occupants every day for the rest of his life, and—

Theodore’s expression changed. A spark of interest puzzled over his face followed immediately by recognition! And then Theodore began to smile at him and Neville smiled back and he knew everything would be fine, everything would be better! Neville smiled back and watched while Theodore’s entire face melded into an expression of pure happiness… but it was wrong… and Neville’s smile fell away. Because the smile that greeted him was stretched too wide, too big, the expression grossly disproportionate to the kind that… well, the kind that  _ regular _ people had. This was the smile of a person who wasn’t quite right. 

Still no one in the room made to move or speak. The Healers by the door held back while Neville, Ron, and Foster stood grouped a little closer, and uncertainty hung on the air. That’s when Theodore’s expression began to morph again, from excessive happiness to confusion, to horrified clarity to actual horror and only then did he begin to speak and Neville swore his heart was ripping itself into microscopic needles that proceeded to pierce through his lungs and spine and if this was what love was he wished he’d  _ never _ heard of it!

“N-n-n-n-n-no…” Theodore moaned and he bent, clutching at his stomach. “N-n-n-n-no…” and then he gasped, mouthing a word that he couldn’t speak for several seconds before, “N-n-n-no…  _ Neville _ !”

He didn’t have a heart any more, of this he was certain. Just a gaping wound that gushed blood and would hopefully kill him and end this nightmare.

“ _ N-Neville _ …” 

Who knew one word could contain so much pain? And what on this earth had he  _ done _ to deserve this?

“The-o?” When he spoke, the name broke, just like he was broken. Just like the gasping, sobbing, shaking man in front of him was broken. He closed the floor between them and reached out with careful fingers. Theodore cried into his hands, at one point pulling his palms away to look at the wetness staining them with something like confusion, before crying even  _ harder _ if that was at all possible. 

“ _ Theo _ …?” he said again, and touched his fingers to his lover’s arm. He felt the brunette shudder under his fingers and then suddenly, and most terrible of all, Theodore’s reddened eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped to the floor.

That was when the Healers finally sprang into action where they stood along the wall at the back of the room. Spells whistled past him and Theodore was lifted off the ground while diagnostic charms raced over his body. 

“Stand back, please. Stand back, sir!” a wide eyed Mediwitch barked at him when he stood in shocked petrification for too long. His numb legs moved slowly, until he was backing into Foster and Ron. A hand clasped onto his shoulder and squeezed in the universal manly gesture of comfort.

“Do you think he’s…” his words cut off when his throat closed around cotton.

Neither of the men at his sides looked composed, by any means. Ron looked white, and it made the freckles on his face stand out starkly, while it looked like Foster had been unashamedly crying. When the Unspeakable started to speak, it was garbled and wet, but still coherent.

“I-I know it l-looks bad, Longbottom.” He stopped to wipe at his eyes. “But, the very f-fact that he recognised you… it says a lot… He’s going to be… just fine… just f-fine.”

The Healer’s shuffled out the door quickly with Theodore’s unconscious body floating in their midst. 

Neville drifted toward the door, following on their heels, with both of the other men right behind him.

Foster wiped at his eyes again and some inane part of Neville’s brain wondered at how much emotion the other man was showing. “I’m gonna—I gotta… there’s other people I have to spell back through…”

“Of course. Yeah. I’ll come with you.” Ron’s voice was thin. “See you at St Mungo’s, Neville.”

“See you,” he said, not looking at either of them, his eyes firmly fixed on the thatch of dusty brown hair that bobbed between two Mediwizard’s shoulders. Ron and Foster split away from him in a different direction and he followed Theodore and his posse of Healers to St Mungo’s.

The hospital was in pandemonium when he arrived. Hermione and Researcher McGonagall had clearly been incredibly efficient when they went from room to room and cast the counter curse at the anchor cubes. Neville doggedly followed Theodore’s group of Healers, even as he heard the floos flaring to life behind him as more of Travers’ victims arrived. A Mediwizard with a levitated man rushed between Neville and his boyfriend and he caught a glimpse of long scratches down the man’s face, and his robes looked like they’d been torn and worried at until they were little more than rags. He hurried quickly past, glad beyond belief that they had gotten Theodore out and hadn’t had to wait another day, another hour, another second. He was so focused that he didn’t realize until there was a hand physically resting on his chest, pressing him back, that there was a security wizard standing between him and the doors Theodore was disappearing behind. 

“No one but Healers and their patients are allowed beyond this point, sir,” the burly, blond haired man said. 

“I have to—”

“Sir, I cannot permit you to go beyond this point. When the patients are stable someone will come find you. Please take a seat in the waiting area.”

Frustration welled quick and fierce and Neville was more than tempted to blast his way past the security wizard and smash his way to Theodore’s side regardless of the consequences! Mr blond and burly must have known what he was thinking though, as he silently twitched his robe to the side to show that his other hand held his wand which was aimed at Neville’s stomach. Conceding to authority, he wandered over to the chairs and sat. Before too long he was joined by the rest of the people who had been working the case, as well as the friends and family of the victims and the waiting area grew very full, though not much louder. Thick and anxious, the silence coated everyone in its numbing blanket as they shifted in their chairs, or paced the floors. Neville looked at his hands, and he looked at the floor, but mostly he watched the door, waiting for someone to come out and tell them something,  _ anything _ ! He had no idea what sort of  _ hell _ Theodore had been living through, and he didn’t know what to  _ do _ ! It had been so foolish to hope that as soon as Theodore got back everything would be better. He felt further from his lover than ever, and the unease that gripped him had him in a constant state of cold sweat. 

Morgana, but everyone was here, though. He saw the stoic face of Mrs. Malfoy the elder, undoubtedly used to worrying about her husband and child, though her hand was held in the tight grip of a teary eyed Astoria Greengrass. Ron, Harry, and Hermione sat together to one side of him with Harry hunched in the middle looking withdrawn and shaken. Neville recognized the incredibly old looking Ernie Prang off to one side and wondered briefly who was driving the Knight Bus. There were a few more Aurors who had been on the case with Ron standing about, and the rest of the chairs were filled with family members of the victims. Almost everyone, along with Neville, watched the doors. Desperation, fear, anticipation, hope, nervousness, love… these emotions and a whirlwind of others took their course through his body as he waited for news to come.

And finally it did. The doors opened to emit a single Healer in red robes with a white apron. She coughed to get their attention, though she didn’t need it. Every eye in the waiting area was fixed on her, waiting with baited breath. She took a scroll out of her pocket and read from it.

“These are the patient’s who are awake, or stable, and are able to receive visitors. If you are a family member or friend of the person named, please proceed to the front desk to state your relationship to the patient, where you will be given the room number of the patient you wish to visit.”

She read through a list of about fifteen names and Neville’s heart fell low into his chest when the list was read completely and Theodore’s name wasn’t on it. Immediately there was an uproar from those in the waiting area who hadn’t heard the name they’d wanted to hear. 

The mediwizard held out her arms for quiet and was reluctantly obeyed by the fearful family members before her.

“By Healer’s Oath we cannot tell you anything that compromises the privacy of a patient. I can tell you this, though… the names I just called are for wizards and witches who were in an extended period of sleep from the point they were taken.  They had to have been cursed while sleeping for that to have happened, thus they have suffered only a mild amount of disorientation. Everyone still here is waiting for someone who was cursed while they were  _ awake _ , therefore they have suffered through numerous days of being fully awake in a different dimension. This has left mental, and in some cases physical, impacts on the remaining patients. We are currently still doing tests on the nineteen wizards and witches remaining, but should have answers for many of you within the next couple hours. Please be patient and know that we are doing everything we can to help your loved one recover. I cannot answer any more answers at this time, but I thank you for your continued patience during this ordeal.”

That said, the Healer turned around and exited through the doors once more.

*

Walking into the light was turning out to be the best decision he’d ever made. It had been scary at first, in fact, it still kind of was. But it was  _ so _ much better than the nothing. He’d been so sure that being dead meant being stuck in the nothing forever and ever, but now he was pretty sure that was just the first phase of dying. This new place, he wasn’t sure where it was… if it was some sort of heaven or hell or purgatory. He was leaning toward heaven, though. There was no way Neville would have ended up anywhere else. And he was  _ sure _ he’d seen Neville! The image was emblazoned in his mind, surrounded by love and happiness… and thick,  _ roiling _ , sad guilt that ate away at him.

That was what most bothered him, right now. How had Neville come to die? It was too soon… he’d expected that Neville would look old and grandfatherly by the time he saw him again. Yes, he’d ached for his handsome lover fiercely while in the nothing, but he hadn’t… he hadn’t really wanted Neville  _ dead _ ! 

But sometimes he thought that maybe some part of him  _ had _ wanted Neville to pass over, to join him, so they could be together again. And he was so  _ selfish _ and terrible! How could he wish for the person he loved most in the world to  _ die _ ?! What kind of wizard was he, to think like that?

“We might want to put him under for a bit. Cox, in room two, said her patient woke up screaming and managed to shatter the windows with accidental magic.”

He couldn’t speak, or even open his eyes, though he felt like if he tried hard enough he would have the potential to do so. But he could hear… and best of all, he could feel! Everything felt so  _ real _ ! There was cloth and leather under his fingers, and his head sometimes thumped against something metal, but in a gentle way. Nothing hurt. Oh! He was  _ warm _ ! What an indescribable feeling, to feel warm again! Before, there had been no distinction, no hot and cold.

And he could  _ hear _ ! Like there was something  _ real _ and solid going on around him. Maybe that’s what heaven was supposed to do; it just made him feel like he was  _ alive _ again. 

“Probably for the best. Give him a teaspoon of Dreamless Sleep. A healing rest can do a world of good in a case like this.”

Something  _ cold! _ pressed against his lips and his body responded vaguely. He felt his eyelids flutter, chinks of light flashing between his fluttering lashes. The oily feel of some sort of liquid trickled between his lips and he instinctively swallowed it down.

When sleep took him he could have cried for happiness! Sleep, restful, beautiful sleep, and his mind was finally quiet.

*

“There are a few things you should know before you go in there.” The Healer stopped him at the door. It was the same one who’d come to the waiting room every few hours, sometimes with more news, sometimes with reassurances, and sometimes to call out a name or draw a specific person aside. Her red robes and stark white apron looked as impeccable as they had hours ago, which was a feat that was not in any way replicated by the state of Neville’s own green robes, wrinkled from sitting or too long, and unbuttoned from discomfort.

Neville nodded hastily, as his impatience made him antsy, but his need for information kept him riveted. 

“You’ll have to be very cautious of what you say, Mr. Longbottom,” the Healer continued at his nod. “Mr. Nott has been, from what we can gather, trapped in a state of constant awareness for the last fifteen days. He was unable to sleep, and at the same time, unable to interact with anything, and as a result it’s stretched his brain almost to the limit. His mind… his mind is very fragile right now.” The last sentence was said with force and Healer—Neville finally took a glance at her robes and saw a name embroidered on the apron— _ Grey _ looked him firmly in the eye. Trying to look earnest, and contrite, and responsible and whatever the bloody  _ else _ she wanted so that he would be allowed to see Theodore, Neville nodded again. Healer Grey only looked half satisfied. 

“It’s important that you know that Mr. Nott is very open to suggestion right now. Try not to make any offhand comments that could serve to frighten or confuse him. For example, one of our apprentices unwittingly told Mr Malfoy that if he didn’t eat he would never feel better and the poor boy ate his food so quickly that he ended up throwing it all up minutes later. It took ages for the other Healers to calm him down.”

“Are they…” Neville found that it was hard to speak. “What about their minds? Will they regain…”

“It appears as though they’ve experienced an extreme form of sensory deprivation. We have no historic studies of people exposed to deprivation this intense; however, previous studies of a similar nature show us that gentle exposure to regular sensation and normal modes of life will gradually remove any lingering effects. Mr Nott’s mind is simply… protecting itself, if you will. The simple outlook he has right now was the only way his body could cope with what he went through. It is our hope, that with regular mental and physical stimulation, he should regain his mind.”

Neville felt a tension he didn’t realise he was carrying fall away at the Healer’s words. That cold horror he’d been harboring ever since he saw the empty look in his lover’s eyes thawed, but he still had to ask, “he’ll recover?”

“He should.”

It was more than he could have hoped for. He’d already mentally prepared himself for the worst and to hear differently, he could have hugged Healer Grey right then and there!

“There is one last thing before I let you in…”

*

Theodore woke slowly, and wasn’t that just the very  _ best _ sensation? To go from sleep to wakefulness. To have the ability to sleep! He could almost feel himself rejuvenating and already thoughts and words and ideas that he had thought lost were trickling back into his awareness. He felt ( _ felt! _ ) the cotton fabric beneath his fingertips and allowed himself a subtle stretch just to feel the material he was lying on move against his back. The simple comfort of having something solid under him was astonishing. He took his time opening his eyes, remembering how much it had hurt the last couple times. Having to adjust to brightness again was the best kind of pain he could imagine!

He couldn’t say he was surprised to see Neville by his bed, he was in heaven after all. And the sight of his youthful, handsome, and weary looking lover filled him with conflicting emotions of  _ lovejoy _ and also a crushing sorrow. He felt his face fall without being able to do anything about it, though he was aware that at one time he would have been able to control his facial expressions only he didn’t remember how.

“ _ Theo _ ,” Neville said in a whisper, and he couldn’t control his minute flinch any more than he could control the rest of his body. Neville gave a shudder of his own and bit his lip, eyes downcast.

And it was all so  _ wrong _ ! Neville was supposed to be happy!

“Neville,” he said, and to his pleasure the name came out firm and confident.

Neville looked up again, slowly, carefully controlled so that none of his movements could startle. Theodore could see, but he didn’t understand why. He struggled to find words, words he once knew and no longer did, words he did know that weren’t right… everything a struggle. He opened and closed his mouth several times while Neville waited, looking sad and worn.

“How…” he finally managed. And then, the easiest word to say. “Dead?”

Neville looked confused though, so he tried again.

“How… y-y-y—” he paused. “How Neville… dead?”

This time a look of shock crossed Neville’s face. “You think I’m dead, Theo?”

Theodore nodded sadly, and too many times, his head continuing to nod even after he told it to stop. Finally it settled and he grasped for words again. It was so hard, even as he felt that trickle of words open up a fraction more, as if the more he concentrated on it, the more it responded. That pleased him. Soon he’d be able to talk to Neville and maybe then the love of his life wouldn’t leave to find someone more interesting. He was sure there were lots of interesting people in heaven, famous people even! Everyone who was good and who was dead. He still wasn’t sure what he was doing here, but it was an undeniable truth that Neville could only end up in heaven which meant that Theodore must be too!

“I am… dead… and Neville… am… no…”

He concentrated mightily hard and the word appeared in his mind like it had never been lost and swallowed by the  nothing. “Neville  _ is _ dead. How  _ is _ Neville dead? How… die?”

His sentences seemed a little wrong, he could feel through emotions and a general sense of wrong, right, good and bad that he wasn’t talking like he should… like he used to. But he was pretty sure he got his question across.

“You think I’m,” Neville gestured slowly between them both. “You think  _ we’re  _ dead?”

Theodore smiled, happy for being understood, sad because… because Neville was  _ dead _ ! And he had never, never meant for his love to die! Even when he yearned for the company and love of the one person he missed above all others, even when he said Neville’s name a hundred, thousand, million times aloud so he would never  _ ever _ forget! But he hadn’t wanted Neville dead. Never that.

His breathing quickened while he worked himself up and he saw Neville’s hand twitch in the sort of movement that used to mean the blonde wanted to touch. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or grateful when the hand remained in Neville’s lap.

It wasn’t long until he calmed again and could return to the topic at hand. His arm snapped out wildly and this time Neville really did flinch when he made an over-exaggerated sweep of the room in an effort to convey the idea of  _ this place _ . And of course, he flinched at the flinch and Neville looked awful again, but he still managed to stutter out what he’d been meaning to convey the entire time which was, “hea-a-ven. Heaven. “Neville, me is—am—is…” he couldn’t force the right word this time. “Dead. Heaven!”

“No.” Neville said, and Theodore searched his face for any untruth but all he saw there was conviction and that ever present sadness. Which meant only one thing, as far as he could see!

If they weren’t in heaven then they were in, “... _ hell _ ? No! Neville, no! Hell is no! Neville is… is heaven!” He was getting worked up again, mostly because this was just  _ terrible _ , but also a little because of how terribly he was talking. Neville would never want to be with him if he couldn’t manage to speak better than an infant!

Neville was making  _ hush, hush _ soothing noises and looked to be trembling from trying not to move. Theodore found it very admirable, and gradually relaxed as the gentle timber of Neville’s soothing sounds washed  over him.

“That is not what I meant,” Theodore could see Neville carefully choosing each word. “What I meant is that I am not dead. I have not yet died.”

Theodore felt very,  _ very  _  conflicted. The pedestal he had put Neville on while in the black nothing began to shake a little because Neville  _ had  _ to be dead! Theodore was dead, and Neville was here, and there was no other explanation! But maybe Neville could give him one. Neville was true and just and beautiful and he never  _ ever _ lied and he had to have some sort of reason. Theodore was stupid right now anyway; it wouldn’t surprise him to learn there was something he had missed because he simply didn’t understand. So he listened while his gorgeously handsome love continued to talk in halting, sure words.

“Fifteen days ago I watched you disappear from Diagon Alley, Theo. A bad wizard cast a spell which took you from me.”

The memory surged through the chink in his mind and in an instant Theodore knew exactly what Neville was talking about. He smiled broadly and nodded, because he understood and Neville should know that. 

Neville smiled back, but it was a weak little thing. “And… you didn’t  _ die _ , Theo. He didn’t kill you, I swear! The spell was designed to transport you— and I know it might sound crazy—but to another dimension. That’s where you’ve been this whole time.”

The smile had slipped from his face. He didn’t understand! He  _ knew _ he was dead… it was a truth, a truth that sat firm in his chest! But… but Neville wouldn’t—he would never  _ lie _ ! So how could he reconcile those two impossible facts?

“M-m-m-maybe… Neville is… n-not dead? I am dead. Neville is not dead?” He said it with hope flooding his veins.  _ He  _ was dead, of course he was, but that didn’t necessarily mean that Neville was, right? This could all be… it could just be the most vivid hallucination he’d ever experienced! 

Once again, he rubbed his palm over the texture of thin cotton sheets, subtly he shifted his legs so he could feel them rub against the same soft material. A part of him knew he was grasping at straws while the world and ideas he’d built in his mind frayed at the edges, as it tried to blur into the ideas Neville was presenting. But a very stubborn part of him was rebelling, trying to hole back up in his little world where at least he’d been  _ safe _ , even if there hadn’t been light, even if there hadn’t been touch, even if there hadn’t been Neville!

Neville’s hands were making those desperate twitching motions in his lap again, the kind that meant he wanted to reach out, and Theodore watched them warily. The last person to touch him had been a mediwizard who tried to guide him into bed with a hand to his elbow. Theodore’s instinctual response had been to almost trip over the bed in his haste to get away and he’d screamed until the mediwizard had sprinted out of the room.

“Can I touch you?” Neville asked finally, stretching a hand out over the bed. “Just your hand—”

“ _ No! _ ” Panic flared sharp and bright and he pressed back against the pillows, but Neville looked ashen as his face lost all color and he snatched his hand back quickly. 

“I just… wait, Neville. Wait.” He was still cautious, watching Neville through slitted eyes and he  _ couldn’t control his reactions _ and it was going to absolutely  _ kill _ him if he had to keep seeing Neville looking so sad.

“Put hand back. There.” He pointed to a place on the blanket, close enough to be in his comfort zone, but far enough that he thought he could handle it.

It was Neville’s turn to look wary as he slowly followed Theodore’s directions, glancing into the brunette’s eyes with every inch he moved as if looking for assurance. Theodore didn’t know if he could give him any. He was absolutely terrified when he thought of what he wanted to do.

Neville froze with his hand open and unaggressive on the blanket. He stared at Theodore and didn’t move, barely seemed to breathe.

Theodore himself was frozen where he lay, taking even, deep breaths and gathering courage. There was a shadow self inside him that seemed to emulate who he was before he lost his words and his memories, his ideas and his identity. This shadow self was telling him to grow a cock and  _ move _ already. Theodore told it to shut up, and he might have used more creative words only he couldn’t think of any.

The silence around them was perfect. The stillness in the room was absolute. White cold walls and white crisp sheets and Neville’s large, scarred hand waiting patiently…

There was a roiling in his gut and a heady feeling floating through him that made him think they might have given him one too many calming potions. Slowly, ever so slowly, he raised his own hand from where it lay in his lap. It looked small like this, hovering in the air, all long fingers and pale skin and pink knuckles. He wasn’t surprised to see it trembling when he began to move it closer into Neville’s vicinity. He was hot, flushed with the effort of ignoring his instincts and forcing through with his own willpower. And it felt good to struggle against that animal impulse, good against the  _ panicpanicpanic _ ! When his hand hovered over Neville’s large, open palm he could swear he felt the heat hurling in the air between them, radiating up from Neville’s skin to brush against his own, so soft, like a lover.

Neville’s lips had parted slightly and there was hope and trust and adoration shining in his eyes. Too many feelings, and so much devotion that he did not deserve, but selfishly he  _ wanted _ !

The first drag of his fingertips on Neville’s toughened skin pulled a gasp from him. Millions of electric sparks shot up his arm and their hands slid together like they were made for each other! His magic shot forth from him, eager and willing to tangle with Neville’s own. The electric adrenalin traveled from that smooth press of skin against warm skin and… Merlin… it was like coming home and like being lost all in one and he would  _ never _ give this up again.

He suddenly knew without a doubt that this wasn’t heaven or hell, purgatory or the horrible darkness of nothing. There was no way this could be any of those places because this was  _ real _ ! Their hands holding tight enough to bruise was real and exhilarating! Neville’s face, such a strange mixture of joy and longing and sorrow was beautiful. The tears welling in his eyes  _ again _ , like they couldn’t help but want to be released after so long not being allowed.

Real, so real and solid and overwhelming and beautiful. Neville was beautiful and he was  _ here _ and it was more than he could have ever hoped for!

“Okay,” he said, and he could see that Neville got what he was trying to say.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? You thought the angst was over? *Evil villain laugh (it's super evil)*
> 
> A hopeful ending though, could be looking up!


	22. Chapter 22

A Mediwizard knocked softly at the door and then entered the room slowly. Immediately, Theodore tensed where he lay, propped up with a multitude of pillows behind his back. Neville might have been just a tad overzealous when Theodore had quietly mentioned the uncomfortable metal headboard when he’d made to sit up.  Any apologies he might have had died on his lips when he saw how eager his love was to perform this small task. Once again, he was blindsided by the amount of trust, faith, hope, and love that brimmed up in Neville’s tender eyes.  He’d had to turn his face away from that gaze in order to gather him thoughts and his feelings, only for the first time trying to imagine what  _ Neville _ must have been through in the past weeks. The thought was troubling and made him feel irrationally guilty, which is why he hadn’t done more than glance over at Neville when he thought the other man might not be looking. Neville seemed to have sensed his need for space, as he had leaned back in his chair, and his eyes remained closed for lengthy periods of time. It was nice… Neville was far too nice… and had to also be something of a Legilimens to be able to acknowledge Theodore’s need for privacy coupled with his crippling fear of being left alone.

But back to the Mediwizard who clutched a sheaf of parchment in front of him, and looked more than a little nervous about being in the room. Theodore guessed it might have something to do with the way he’d screamed when the wizard had clumsily brushed against him early on in his hospital stay.  The fact that the other wizard showed signs of nervousness in no way lessened Theodore’s own tension and he curled his body away from the other man’s presence. Neville, who had to be more aware than he was pretending, was already sitting on the edge of his chair, leaning over the bed frame protectively and leveling a challenging look at their intruder. 

The Mediwizard shuffled the papers in his grip, coughed a little—wisely, did not move forward any more—and began to speak. 

“It is the opinion of the staff that you should be free to leave whenever you choose, Mr. Nott. However, if you feel uncomfortable with the idea of leaving the hospital, you are of course free to stay until you are less stressed. The hospital can accommodate you for as long as you might need if that is the case. If, however, there is a safe place you can stay with a relatively stress free environment, you could well recover faster than by staying here. We feel strongly that gentle stimulation and introduction to familiar environments is key to unlocking the memories still suppressed. Our advice is to continue eating bland foods, while slowly incorporating stronger tasting food into your diet. A slightly more risky stimuli would be to expose yourself to swimming or bathing in warm temperatures. This method has proven recovery rates, though there is the slight risk that the sensation of weightlessness may be too close to what you experienced while other-dimensional. Try to avoid loud noises and flashing lights for the next few days. I know this sounds daunting, but this transition may very well happen quicker than you expect. Your scans show that you did a remarkable job protecting your brain from irreversible harm, and the tests you completed earlier show that your intelligence is also locked safely away and will return in time.”

Theodore thought of the lines and shapes he’d drawn earlier, at a Healer’s request. Thought of the patterns they’d run him through where he’d had to identify the odd thing out. At the time it had sometimes seemed terribly hard, but now that he looked back it appeared childish and silly. Was that his wits returning? He sincerely hoped so. Neville had told him that he was clever and had a huge intellect. He’d found it hard to believe, but believe it he had, because it was Neville saying such things. And Neville didn’t lie.

“You should continue to show signs of greater mental cognisance and acuity over the coming days. We’ve scheduled a checkup appointment for one week from now, and more after that if we need to. Physically, there’s nothing more that we can do for you. Your bruising has completely faded—”

Theodore flinched and beside him, Neville stiffened. 

“ _ Bruises _ ?” Neville said slowly, having difficulty keeping his voice steady. By the door, the Mediwizard cut of mid-spiel, and looked at Theodore with an incredibly guilty look, well aware that he’d made another blunder.

“I-I wasn’t going to… say a-anything.” His voice was anything but steady.

“I’m aware of that.” 

Theodore couldn’t tell if Neville was angry, or sad, or what. His face was perfectly closed off in a way that was extremely unlike him.

“Apparent… Apparent—ly… they think I—” he looked over at the frozen Mediwizard desperately. It took a frantic look to pass between patient and Healer before the wizard stepped forward and turned to Neville. Neville was clenching his fists in his chair, nostrils flaring slightly but still maintaining the rest of his horrible, blank facade.

“Mr Nott first came to us with some superficial bruising on his torso. He was unable to explain how it occurred, but we have research that suggests that some hallucinations can manifest themselves in physically to the receiver. Whether it was that Mr Nott attacked himself during these periods of time is unknown. It is also possible that his body physically reacted to stimuli that did not exist, as has been known to occur. His bruising was not severe and did no internal damage, and after we gave him Converbero Paste he applied it himself and any bruises faded within the next hour.”

The Mediwizard stopped speaking and stood nervously.

“Can you give us a minute?” Neville asked. 

Theodore nodded at the Mediwizard and he left.

As soon as he was gone, Neville turned fully toward the bed and his look was one of pure devastation.

“Theo, I… I am so sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want… I meant to tell you later, maybe… but I just. It took us  _ so _ long to get you back and I was  _ right there _ ! I should never have turned away from you in Diagon Alley! If I hadn’t… 

“And this whole time… this whole time when you’ve been trapped in that, that  _ hell _ ! And I wasn’t able to do  _ anything  _ for you!”

Theodore’s hands fluttered nervously in front of him, wanting to reassure but still not knowing how and above all, wanting to stop Neville’s mouth from speaking, because he was  _ wrong _ ! It made his head hurt though. One more wall in his mind buckled as the irreversible facts of Neville  _ always _ being right, and Neville being so dead wrong in this instant clashed painfully.

He accepted the return of his baser instincts, curled up and whined while his head pounded furiously. This, thankfully, had the effect of getting Neville to stop his words of self hate. After too long a period of time, he was able to raise his head again and look at Neville. The taller male was looking at him with worry etched in painful lines across his face.

Theodore gathered his wits, swallowed a little to wet his dry mouth, and forced a single word out of his teeth.

“No.” After that, his throat tightened up again and he couldn’t continue his train of thought. This time, he wasn’t sure if Neville got it.

A couple hours later they had fallen into a silence that was somehow neither easy nor tense. Theodore was doing his best to read one of the books from the side table.  The most difficult part had been understanding the letters in the first place and he’d had to ask the names and sounds of a few before he was able to read in earnest. He figured he was understanding a little more than half the words on the pages. Then, a sudden commotion erupted from outside the door.

As one, their heads snapped up to look, staring like they could see through the white walls and into the corridor beyond.

“What’s that?” he asked, and Neville moved to open the door, before sticking his head outside. Theodore sagged in relief when he saw that his boyfriend had no intention of actually leaving the room. The second the door opened, the words came through the air, sharp and clear.

“NO!” Someone’s angry shout came whipping through the air, quick as a slap to the face.

“Be reasonable, darling. At least wait until the Healer’s say you can leave—”

“NO!”

“You’re already engaged!”

There was a pause, and somehow Theodore got the impression that there were a great many people standing in the corridor, all of whom were holding their breath as the scene took place.

Slowly, haltingly. Words started again, and Theodore recognized the speech pattern. It was eery how similar the person in the hallway was speaking, a parallel of the level of speech he himself had possessed just the day before.

“Back  _ there… _ I… alone. No love… E-En-Engage… is no love. Here… I have love.”

Theodore thought he might have heard someone say, ‘aw’ and fervently wished he could see what was taking place.

“Please, darling, come back to your room. We can address your… concerns… after the Healer’s have released you. You’re father’s likely giving himself a coronary right about now.”

“No.”

Quick steps marched down the corridor again, many pairs of feet slapped on the tile floor. A shock of white hair on a tall, thin man, strode quickly past the open doorway, and right behind him a man with a mop of curly black hair and glasses was dragged along. Behind them came an imposing woman who was followed by flashes of harried looking Healers. In the doorway, Neville’s head turned to follow the strange procession, an avid look of curiosity mixed with confusion on his face.

“Sir, we advise you not to leave until—”

“My child, you cannot leave!”

“Watch… m-me!”

A chorus of gasps and even a squeal were heard, and then came the sharp CRACK of a hasty Apparition. Neville looked stunned.

Theodore couldn’t stay silent anymore. “Neville?” he asked. “What was that?”

Neville turned away from the door and walked back to his chair by the bed. He sat heavily and looked at Theodore with a face that looked completely stunned.

“Draco Malfoy just  _ kissed _ Harry! And then they left  _ together _ .”

Lines connected in his mind and he was able to put names and even a few memories behind the white haired man and the black haired man with glasses.  He looked at Neville’s stunned face and it suddenly made complete sense. He threw back his head. He laughed.

After that little disturbance, the hospital fell eerily quiet. He took the peaceful time for a bit of contemplation.

Theodore could tell that sometimes he made his lover nervous.  After all, there were only a hundred little things that would set him to flinching and stuttering, and simple ideas that he wouldn’t know how to follow or understand.  He did his best to hide his incompetence from Neville, but when he couldn’t quite follow the conversation it seemed like Neville could always tell.  He couldn’t help the way his eyes would involuntarily dart around, like he expected the answers to appear in the air around Neville’s head.

Touching was also something they both found difficult.  So far as he could tell, Neville was resolved to letting him initiate all contact. This was new ground for both of them. They were trying the best they knew how.

“Theo?” 

He looked up from where his fingers had been carefully perusing Neville’s hand, every now and then daring to go further up to the wrist. Neville’s skin was warm and intoxicating. And overwhelming… he was like Felix Felicis, and could only be handled in small amounts.

“Hmm?” 

His eyes flittered to Neville’s face, held steady as he drank in the chiseled jaw, coarse stubble, strong chin, wide mouth, loving eyes, curling hair, then fell away again to look back to their brushing hands.

“I’ve got a bit of a proposition for you. Before we leave.”

Neville had his complete attention now, though he still found it hard to raise his head and look the other in the eyes.

“I’d like to stay with you over the next few days, if that’s fine with you?”

“Yes!” Theodore stopped, feeling started and then faintly embarrassed with his quick response. “I mean, I don’t—I don’t want to be alone… Thank you, Neville.”

His quick response didn’t really surprise him. He had a feeling he’d always been somewhat eager when it came to Neville, and coupled with how little control he had over himself any more… he was bound to blurt things out. 

“Fantastic! So now, the way I see it, you have two choices. We can go to your manor and I could move in for a while, at least until you got back under your feet—”

His nose wrinkled as he felt distaste and no small amount of fear overcome him. He didn’t have many memories to associate the feelings to, but he was pretty good at trusting his instincts by this point, and they were telling him that the  _ last _ thing he wanted was to go back to his manor.

“Or you can come live with me. I’ve made a few changes to the cottage, just in case. Aired out the guest bedroom if you’ll feel more comfortable there. Retrofitted the kitchen. Added some bookshelves and emptied some cabinets for your things…”

Theodore couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose again.

“Guest… bedroom…?”

Neville looked pleased, and then immediately seemed guilty for being pleased. It made Theodore feel…  _ fond _ ? Yes, he was pretty sure he could classify that protective and indulgent emotion as ‘fond.’ 

“I also ordered a bigger bed, but I really didn’t want to seem presumptuous.”

He couldn’t stop the smile that graced his face. Fondness, love, everything he could ever feel that was good seemed to bubble up in him when he was with this one, perfect man.  And added to that, he was pleased with himself. His mannerisms, speech, and emotional processes had advanced significantly in the two days he’d been at St Mungo’s, he was already floating on clouds and Neville was just about the best thing ever. He’d even laughed earlier! It had erupted out of him with no warning and he’d been slightly stunned to hear the noise coming from him, but it was good. Everything seemed good. And Neville was smiling.

“Perfect.” 

Suddenly he felt flustered, the pleased feeling seemed almost too much to contain. 

Neville leaned forward excitedly, his curls bounced on his forehead and his face brightened with liveliness and joy. Theodore had done that, somehow!

It happened too quickly for him to react.

Neville brought Theodore’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles, those soft, dry lips skating gently over his suddenly overheated skin. Then, the blonde froze with his lips still barely touching and his shocked eyes found Theodore.

His heart was going crazy in his chest, and his head was clearly somewhere else. He had liked it! Neville had better not ruin this moment with his idiotic guilt and trepidation. He hummed and then pressed his hand back into Neville’s slack mouth, curiosity and delight roaring in his ears. The smile seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face.

Neville broke into another a large grin of his own and peppered kisses all over Theodore’s knuckles before setting the hand back down to the bed sheets.  Theodore was blushing fabulously when he looked up again and his chest swelled with feeling.

Indulgence. Protectiveness. Love. Joy. Hope. 

The future was incandescent and bright and he was so full of warmth he could choke on it.

It ended up being quite late by the time they left the hospital. To the point, that Theodore was contemplating exiting in Draco Malfoy fashion—though he doubted he’d be able to achieve the same level of stunning commotion. 

Neville apparated them to his cottage and Theodore found he quite liked the feel of stepping close the Neville’s warmth and overcoming his wary reservations about personal space. He was quickly finding Neville’s heat to be addicting and a couple of newly returned memories left him blushing and with no doubts  as to the reason why. 

A few of him memories weren’t quite synced up to the image he got when he first arrived.  A cozy stone cottage surrounded by gardens and what looked a like at least one greenhouse around the back. The windows were thatched, and the chimney had smoke curling lazily from it. Neville led him to the door and he stepped inside. 

*

The next few days were fraught with many difficulties, times where Neville’s heart soared to his throat and he questioned whether he was even helping Theodore or if he was still the same bumbling buffoon that blew things up in Potions class.  He often felt like he was either the only thing keeping Theodore together, or like he was the worst thing in existence. He chose to focus on the positives however, and the more time went by, the less the bad things seemed to happen and the more the good things became the standard quo.

He watched Theodore constantly, feeling like some sort of guardian sheep dog who couldn’t look away for a moment lest the lamb wander into the bramble thicket. That’s how he collected his best memories. They were the ones he cherished. He focused on them and did his best to not let Theodore’s night terrors, his flinches, or resurgences of stuttering linger in his mind.

There were many best memories.

Theodore, lying on the black sheepskin before the fire, lazily running his fingers through Albho’s white fur. The kneazle’s loud rumbles of bliss competing with the fire for noisiness. The way Theodore squealed in shock when the animal’s cold nose pressed up into his neck. And the way he turned to look at Neville, who sat on the couch with a book lying forgotton on one knee. The way his affronted look quickly turned into laughter, until Neville was helpless but to laugh along with him.

In the kitchen, fantastically delighted with every update Neville had made. The way he gleefully went through the overloaded spice rack and took a sniff of each, almost tearing up once or twice when a specific herb called to mind a poignant memory. 

The first night, lying in bed with the soft glow coming from the leaf shaped lights above. Each vine of lights crisscrossing the ceiling and the soft yellow glow playing over Theodore’s awed face. “It’s so beautiful,” Theodore had whispered, supple lips parting around the words. “Beautiful,” he had echoed, but he’d been staring at Theodore when he said it.

Some memories were just as pleasurable to think of, but also dangerous to think on for too long. Theodore found that the greatest therapy did indeed end up being swimming. Neville had a large pond in the gardens, kept always warm and clear of algae by decades old spellwork. The water was always clear and deep, and bright, golden fish swam lazily under the water. Theodore spent as much time as he could in the water… and he didn’t wear anything.

He might have given the other male his privacy, but they were both still clingy. Neville could barely stand to let Theodore out of his sight, while his lover seemed to only be at ease when Neville was in the same room.

So he spent hours at the edge of the pond, trying and failing to look away from the beautiful, pale form that sluiced through the water. Theodore always started out fast, jumpin in when he was down to bare skin and slicing his way through as many laps as he could stand, pushing his body to its limit until he ended up slowly paddling around, panting for breath. He’d always end his sessions by floating gently, looking up into the sky and gently kicking his legs to stay afloat. Those moments were almost painful for Neville, who stood at the shore and just… stared. He couldn’t look away from that aching perfection. From Theodore’s wild hair, spread out like a halo, his eyes bright and cheeks slowly fading to pink from exerting himself. The unmarred skin that was  _ everywhere _ , beautiful perfection, open to his perusal. Everything about Theodore in those moments was just… open. Soft, vulnerable, and yet with a strength forged of steel in the way he held himself. Every time when Theodore got out of the water, he emerged as someone so much surer of himself, new lines of independence and strength clinging to his form. That was when his lover was truly breathtaking, eyes flashing, victory on his face. He made Neville so hard he was sure he would come as soon as he touched his hand to his cock. But instead, he smiled back at Theodore, handed the smaller wizard his robe, and followed him back inside, willing his erection away with the force of his own willpower. He wasn’t willing to do  _ anything _ that might put this fragile recovery process in danger.

Sometimes when Theodore looked at him it seemed like he knew  _ exactly _ what he was doing to Neville’s body. Sometimes when Theodore looked at him he seemed seconds away from  _ doing _ something about it.

Neville looked at the ground and recited the ingredients to Dragon Ash Fertilizer and slowly his walk became less of an awkward waddle around the heavy weight between his thighs.

He looked up in time to see Theodore glancing back at him, a deliberate smirk fixed on his face as his gaze travelled up and down Neville’s body. 

Fifteen percent peat moss.

Two percent crushed fish bone.

Five percent ash from dragon fire.

Five percent aged doxy droppings.

Slowly his pulse came back down to a manageable level. He didn’t quite dare look back up again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really sorry for how late I ended up posting this. My daughter only just recovered from a horrible stomach virus that left me completely addled. It's the first time I've had to handle a serious illness with my children (thank goodness) and it's left me with a new appreciation for mothers. For all those with sick children, my thoughts go out to you!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter here! Wow. Seriously guys, this is both awesome and terrible. Warnings for smut ahead? Oh come off it, you love it! :)

He was kind of nervous, but not about himself. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so sure about something he wanted. No, he was feeling nerves over what  _ Neville’s _ reaction would be.

It had been two weeks since leaving St Mungo’s, and his brain finally felt like it was screwed on straight. There was no more second guessing his own feelings, no more blank spots where words and memories should have been. The greatest relief of all was the renewal of his intellect.  Yesterday he’d quite likely bored Neville to tears after the Gryffindor spent several long hours watching him scribble all over long sheaths of parchment, diagrams, symbols, runes and numbers flowing onto the page as quickly as he could ink his quill. He’d received sudden inspiration in the middle of his morning swim and nothing could have stopped him from letting his brain’s ramblings take proper form on the parchment. At the end he’d begged Neville for his owl and then sent off some detailed notes to Foster, asking if the other man could file them away in the Department of Mysteries for when he got back. On second thought, maybe Neville’s boredom wasn’t so foregone, if the starry eyed look he remembered was anything to go by.

Today though, today he was on a mission: Seduce Neville Longbottom. It seemed to be going well so far.

He stepped out of the pond, water dripping off his body, trailing in rivulets over his shoulders and down his chest.  He might or might not have been guilty of flaunting it a little bit. The morning air bit a chill into his skin and he felt the goosebumps spread across his body, everything tightening in response. He could  _ feel _ Neville’s eyes on him a the taller man stared unashamedly. His body tingled, whether it was from the chill, or from the heat of Neville’s gaze he couldn’t say.

Neville was there with a robe, as per usual, but instead of accepting it he stepped around the outstretched arm and the offered garment.

“What—?” Neville croaked.

“I’m  _ cold _ , Neville,” Theodore whined, leaning into the other’s broad chest. He was quick, within the span of seconds he was pressed all along the Gryffindor’s length. If there had been any doubt as to Neville’s interest, there wasn’t any more. He could feel his boyfriend’s half hard cock bulging up against the front of his casual slacks. “Won’t you warm me up?” The words were coquettish, and some of the most clichéd pick up lines he could have chosen. But, hell, why screw around with what worked?

Neville swallowed audibly, and Theodore greedily watched the bob of it down that strong neck. They hadn’t even kissed since he’d gotten back! Surely, this was a travesty meant to be rectified in the best way possible. He pressed as close as he could get, feeling his cock stirring in response to Neville’s heat, despite the chill of the air.

“Theo, I don’t want to do anything that—”

“Why don’t you man up,” he said evenly, and pressed onto his toes so he could reach the furl of Neville’s ear, “and fuck me, already? I think I’ve had enough with all this dancing around, and if my memories are to be believed we’ve never much been renowned for our restraint.”

“ _ Bloody hell _ ,” Neville said lowly, and then the robe was draped around his shoulders as he was rapidly turned back to the house.

As soon as they were both through the door, he turned around and pounced, crashing Neville back into the wall next to the coathangers, causing an umbrella to shudder precariously and fall off its perch. Finally his mouth was back where it belonged, slotted easily against Neville’s. Their lips trembled when they touched, each of them taken aback for a minute by the silken feeling of that first touch. A wave of  _ right, so right _ , washed through him and he hummed happily, reveling in the way his lips buzzed over Neville’s with the sound. They kissed chastely for a long while. Just the press of lips on lips, with Theodore’s hands holding Neville close, and Neville’s fingers coming up to tremulously trace the outline of his face. Those coarse fingers threaded gently through his hair, drifted along the angle of his jaw, felt along the shell of his ear, swept up and down the length of his neck, pressed briefly at his collarbones. That was when Theodore groaned harshly and pushed his tongue into Neville’s mouth. The blonde opened easily for him, and he spent a while just reacquainting himself with Neville’s taste, the sharp angle of his teeth, the give of his tongue, the plushness of his lips, and the burn of his scruff.

He felt the insistent ache of his erection throb and he pressed more insistently against his lover, rutting against Neville’s still clothed hip, showing him just how turned on this was making him.

“Want you,” he managed to say between one sloppy suck of Neville’s tongue and a nibble at the blonde’s swollen lower lip.

Neville pulled back, and placed a hand on his chest. It burned his flesh in an incredibly pleasurable way and he wanted those hands all over him  _ now _ !

“Wait.” 

Theodore pushed forward again.

“Wait, Theo! I mean it!”

He finally stopped struggling against Neville’s hold, and looked him in the face. Neville looked far more serious than he had any right to look with his cock straining so valiantly against his clothing.

“I need to know you’re ready for this, Theo. The last thing I want to do is get physical with you too early and hurt you. I need to be sure you’re okay. We can wait. I would wait forever for you, Theo.”

He looked earnest and handsome and patient, and it was everything Theodore did  _ not _ need right now.

“You’ve never treated me like I was fragile before, Neville. Please don’t start now.”

It was only two sentences, but every ounce of his vulnerability was behind those words because he  _ needed _ this, and he was finally ready, and because if Neville kept treating him like a victim he couldn’t be held responsible for his actions any longer.

Neville’s eyes searched his face thoroughly until finally,  _ finally _ , he nodded.

“Okay,” he said.

“ _ Thank you _ .” He crushed himself into Neville’s space again. Their lips met effortlessly. Neville’s mouth was wetness and heat, and his stomach roiled with it, and his blood burned with it, and his loins  _ ached _ with it.

Neville’s hands left him to work at his own robes and  _ yes _ , he wanted to feel  _ more _ heat,  _ more _ skin so his own fingers flew to help the other with the button of his slacks, while Neville reached down and pulled the soft undershirt over his head and off his arms. Theodore’s robe had long since fallen to the ground and he stood completely nude, his hair still damp from swimming and falling in water tight curls across his forehead and around his ears. 

But Neville was gently trying to push him back again. He whined at the unfairness of the withheld contact. What now? 

“Maybe we should take this to the bedroom?” Neville suggested, and okay, he could get on board with that.

Neville pulled him gently down the hallway and laughed at his attempts to distract the larger man with wandering hands. The time it took them to climb the stairs and open the door to the bedroom seemed interminable, but it also made getting his hands back on Neville’s skin that much sweeter. 

They made short work of Neville’s undone slacks and briefs, and Neville gave him a look of absolute adoration when he pushed the larger man to sit on the edge of the bed, and then knelt down and carefully removed each sock, the last two articles of clothing standing between him and all of Neville’s skin. With the socks removed he pressed a kiss to each knee, and one of Neville’s hands came down to thread through his hair, petting him almost. He closed his eyes at the soothing rub of fingernails into his scalp, smiling blissfully. Happier than he could have imagined, kneeling between Neville’s spread legs.

He didn’t let thoughts enter the moment, just did what felt right. Kept his eyes closed and nuzzled forward until he could smell the musk of Neville’s cock, feel the rub of his short curls. This close, he tilted his head and laid another open mouthed kiss on the inside crease of Neville’s thigh. He was so close to the other man’s hard cock he could feel it brushing his hair when his head moved. Neville gasped raggedly when he let his tongue come into play, licking a broad trail right along that same crease, so close to Neville’s heavy balls and the base of his cock that he felt them both brush along the side of his tongue. He moved his head back and paid the other side the same reverent attention. The hand Neville still had on his head, petted down once again, before resting lightly on his hair.

Finally he opened his eyes and looked up. This,  _ this _ , was what he had been missing. The straining chords of Neville’s neck and shoulders as he held himself in check. The blown out pupils that made the irises look like a honey ring around endless black pits. The glow the soft lights set upon his features. The color that rose in two sharp spots on Neville’s cheekbones. The way he looked seconds apart from flying to pieces. The memories couldn’t even compare.

He kept his eyes locked to Neville’s face as he moved back, and pressed a kiss to the head of Neville’s cock. With one hand he grasped the base, and the other he reached up, up, until he tucked three fingers into Neville’s panting mouth.

When he licked a sharp line up Neville’s slit, gathering the bitter precome on his tongue, that was when Neville sucked his fingers greedily in, coating them quickly with saliva, whorling his tongue around the digits like he wished they were Theodore’s cock. Theodore felt himself twitch at the thought, and especially at the treatment his fingers were receiving, like each finger had a live nerve ending connected straight to his erection.

He tucked his teeth behind his lips, drooling improperly all over the head of Neville’s impressive erection, and hollowed his cheeks as he lowered his mouth. Neville had gone a little open mouthed around his fingers, so he gently extracted them before reaching around, arching his back to find his hole, and he pushed at his opening with a saliva wet finger. Neville’s hand still rested gently on his head, not helping or hindering his progress over Neville’s cock, just a comforting weight that occasionally brushed the hair back from his forehead so that Neville could stare down with heavy lidded eyes and a panting mouth.

He pushed his finger in a bit more firmly, feeling the muscle give as it swallowed the tip of the digit. His muscles immediately clenched tight around the intrusion and he wondered exactly how he was going to manage fitting Neville’s wide girth inside again. 

So he focused again on the thickness of that hot flesh lying scorching and hard in his mouth. Sucking Neville’s cock would never get old. It was always a surprise to feel exactly how much give the man’s cock had and there was no better way to test it than when it was resting on the nerve endings of his tongue. Incredible, to feel how silky smooth the outside skin was, coupled with the solid weight of the thing itself. Blood pounded in his ears, and he imagined he could  _ feel _ the rush of blood filling Neville’s erection, pulsing up the vein that pressed inside his mouth. His hand around the base drew back a little, became a little looser, and Neville’s hips took the invitation to move up and down minutely, fucking up into Theodore’s mouth while he bobbed down to meet the stuttering press of hips.  Neville gasped hot and loud somewhere up above him, and while he pushed his finger in and out of his opening, finally working the entire thing in, he hollowed his cheeks as much as he could and  _ sucked _ . 

Neville’s upper body collapsed back against the bed, which gave him a new leverage to fuck quicker into Theodore’s mouth. Theodore pressed a second digit beside the first, wincing slightly, but unwilling to back down, and taking Neville’s renewed thrusting with a happy moan of his own which was muffled around his cock stuffed mouth and sent vibrations racing up to Neville’s pelvis. Neville moaned in earnest now, and every now and then a breathy, “Theo,” worked its way past his lips.

When he had the second finger pressed tight against the first, both of them working over his rim, and Neville’s cock dragging past his lips at a quick pace, Neville suddenly sat up again and pulled him off.

“Wha—?” he got out and then he was pulled into Neville’s lap and the brunette’s tongue was delving into his mouth and their cocks were rutting together and there was so much heat and electricity flying between them that Theodore almost managed to forget about the fingers he had tucked up into his ass until Neville’s hand slid over the swell of his cheeks and dipped into his crack, those work rough fingers teasing around his stretched tight rim and poking curiously at the fingers still lodged inside.

“That’s crazy fucking sexy,” Neville said brokenly into his mouth. His lover then lurched sideways a bit until he could open the bedside drawer, and he rummaged around in it before pulling out a promising looking little tub. He brought his hand away from Theodore’s hole, but not before lingering fingertips pressed gently around and not before he grabbed a handful of Theodore’s backside and squeezed roughly, drawing out a moan.

Theodore took the moment where Neville was distracted with his tub of lube to tuck his face into Neville’s neck and start licking and sucking on the sensitive expanse of skin. He felt Neville’s pulse jumping erratically against his lips, tasted the sweet tang of Neville’s sweat, and drew mouthfuls of delicate skin in between his teeth, drawing bright red stains up to the surface.  _ Merlin _ , had Neville always tasted this good?

Before he knew it, Neville’s fingers were back at his opening, gently prodding around the two fingers he was still rocking back onto. Neville took ahold of his wrist and softly withdrew his fingers, only to replace them with two of his own lubed up digits. They were bigger, and rougher, and slicker and Theodore collapsed into Neville’s chest, arching his back and pushing back onto that delightful stretch. 

“So tight, Theo,” Neville hissed into his ear and he shuddered with the want he heard in that voice.

The burlish fingers fucked in and out of him, with Neville adding twists and spreading them every now and then until he felt himself relax enough to accept a third. Their cocks were pressed together, the friction they got coming entirely from Theodore’s backwards thrusts onto Neville’s thick fingers. Everything felt overheated and tingly and he really couldn’t get enough of it.

He was panting raggedly into Neville’s throat, a string of curses and praises falling from his lips. Neville wasn’t much better.

“So good, so good.  _ Fuck,  _ Neville.”

“Yeah, baby? Take it so good. You’re so perfect.”

“Oh, shit! Oh,  _ fucking _ shit!”

“Mmmm.”

It seemed Neville was determined to stretch him  _ thoroughly _ , because that was definitely his pinky finger pressing up next to the other three, determined to spread him wide and loose and ready.

He stuttered out a hoarse cry when the digit pushed in firmly, tucked up against the others already moving inside him.  And  _ there _ it was, that delightful burn that started low, and moved to all his extremities, filling both his cheeks and his cock with heat as he burned, burned,  _ burned _ in the cradle of Neville’s strong arms.

Every now and then, he felt the light brush of Neville’s fingers against his prostate, but though he yearned for more, he was glad his lover wasn’t focusing attention there. He was close enough to coming already, and was sure any sustained pressure to his sweet spot would have him flying out of control.

“You ready?” Neville asked, and he barely heard him beyond the push, pull, suck, clench. But hear him he did, and he lifted his head from where it was pulling red color to Neville’s collarbone and looked into Neville’s blown eyes.

He was barely articulate with his answer.

“Fuck. Yes. Please, yes.”

Neville laid back on the bed, pulling Theodore with him, and removed his fingers from Theodore’s ass causing him to make a noise he wasn’t proud of. Neville then shuffled them both further up the bed in a move that probably should have been ungainly, but only heightened the sensations running through him as Neville’s muscles rolled and contracted against his skin.

“You’re so hot,” he said causing Neville to almost looked like he was preening. But then those gorgeous hands were at his hips once more, one large grip holding him steady while the other reached under and positioned Neville’s cock. He put his own elbows on either side of Neville’s face and they were so close like this, almost every inch of them touching. He bore back slowly once he felt the thick pressure at his rim, enjoying the way it felt when he stretched and opened around the head of Neville’s cock. Gasping when the first inch sunk in almost too quickly. Feeling love overwhelm him when Neville’s eyes found his and they stared into each other like this was a romantic novel but it was  _ perfect _ .

They breathed in each other with every breath. Moved as one with every small thrust that worked Neville deeper and deeper. Moaned as one when he felt that perfect fullness fill him completely. The connection of two bodies fusing together as they reveled in each other’s pleasure.

Neville rocked his hips up for every time he pushed back. Neville’s cock moved to fill him every time he moved back onto it. He shifted up a little so he could look at Neville more fully.

The beautiful lights Neville had installed cast a soft, yellow glow over his lover’s countenance which highlighted the light sheen of sweat that clung to him. In turn, this made every muscle stand out in sharp relief, shadows and light playing in beautiful patterns over Neville’s broad torso, dusky nipples, strong arms, bruised neck. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on Neville’s jaw and that was when his lover shifted under him, pistoning into him sharply and the angle changed and—

“ _ There, there! Fuck, please more!” _

He’d almost managed to forget about his erection with the myriad of other sensations Neville had lavished upon him, but with every punch of Neville’s thick cock into his prostate, a jolt of pure unbridled lust poured straight into his cock and left through his lips in the form of thready whines and high pitched moans.

One of Neville’s hands remained on his waist, keeping him steady where the larger man thrust into him with abandon, but the other hand moved around to his rear and squeezed and stroked his ass muscles with every inward thrust. Without warning, one of Neville’s fingers dipped down and  _ he could feel it _ . Could feel the way it pressed up tight against the line of his hole and Neville cock. Could feel Neville’s erection catching on the finger as he withdrew and felt the digit almost getting sucked into that impossibly tight space every time Neville punched back inside.

Just the deliberate placement of that one finger, and the thought of it sliding into next to Neville’s too large cock had him seconds away from completion as every nerve ending in his body sang with the power of the moment.

“Neville I’m—”

Neville pulled out.  _ Neville pulled out _ ! And he couldn’t keep in the loud whine of disappointment as his raging orgasm was suddenly stilled before it began. Neville lifted him up and threw him onto his back and he couldn’t  _ think _ because he was so empty.

“What the _ fuck _ , Neville.  _ Please, please, put-it-back-in—! _ ”

He gave a shout and his whole body trembled, focused down to the sensation of Neville’s broad tongue licking a single stripe from the base of his cock all the way up to his neck. Overwhelming heat, followed immediately by the cold of cooling saliva. He shuddered wildly, and his body thrashed as it felt like he really had orgasmed just from Neville’s tongue on his body. But when he looked down, his erection was still unsatisfied, leaking copiously onto his stomach. He was still looking down when Neville lined up with his hole and quickly pushed back in.

He grunted when the air was removed from his lungs with the pounding of Neville’s hips into his ass, feeling extraordinarily full and oh so good for it.

“Wow,” Neville said, stilling for a minute and just gyrating his hips into Theodore. 

“Thanks?” he questioned, taking the opportunity to catch his breath a little.

“I’m serious!” Neville insisted, “You’re just—” he drew his hips back, fucking back in, “—incredible…”

Theodore might have blushed but he was pretty sure all his blood was currently in his cock and he was doing his best to not just come between their pressing bodies.

But it seemed Neville wasn’t done because with each drag out and press in he had another adjective to bestow.

“...Pefect…”

“...Tight…”

“...Hot…”

“...mine?”

“Yeah. Yours. Of course. Yours.”

Neville was picking up his pace, arms flexing as he held his weight off Theodore’s body, pressing his feet into the blankets for leverage, tilted his hips… and then with every inward thrust he was  _ drilling _ repetitively into  _ that spot. _

“Neville, wait! Ungh, fuck, you’re gonna make me  _ come _ !”

“Yes. Want you to come so bad, Theo. I’m so fucking close but I want to see your face…  _ fuck _ , baby.”

The pace didn’t change, Theodore’s entire body shuddered with each slow and deliberate fuck into his prostate, but Neville never changed direction or speed, just maintained that torturous, deep press in, press out.

When he did come, it was out of nowhere, he’d been straddling the thin wire for a while, and he tipped over the edge with a cry that was half ecstasy, half surprise. He was able to keep his eyes open, and it was the way Neville drank him in with worship in his hazel eyes that really finally did him in. His cock spurted stream after stream of warm come onto his stomach, and then it continued to drool copiously when Neville grabbed his hips and pushed in a half-dozen jagged thrusts that ended with Neville pulling out hastily and adding thick ropes of his own release to the mess on Theodore’s stomach. 

He was absolutely filthy and completely wrecked, but nothing could have stopped the disbelieving groan from leaving his lips when Neville bent down to lick clean the mess on his abs. He didn’t stop until not a trace of their mixed orgasms was left and then he leaned back and licked his lips, studying Theodore’s glistening skin with a ridiculously self satisfied expression on his face.

When his wits finally came back to him the first thing out of his mouth was, “you’re going actually kill me with sex someday, aren’t you?” 

“Love you too,” Neville said, lying down and gathering him into those brawny arms.

He laughed weakly. “Yeah, love you, Neville.”

They laid there for some time before Theodore had to break the comfortable silence.

“I think we’d better hit the shower unless you  _ want _ to wake up dried to the covers.”

This time they both laughed. Neville helped him up and he tripped from the bed with a slight wince. Neville fussed over him in the shower, massaging shampoo into his hair, soaping him up with those large hands roaming softly over his body. It ended with Neville on his knees, the spray pulsing down on them both while Neville swallowed him down, taking the second load of Theodore’s come in his throat while the Gryffindor found his own release in his hand, and it washed down the drain with the rest of the water.

They fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms, as close as they could get, their legs entangled, with Theodore’s face pressed into the warmth of Neville’s throat. He couldn’t help but think that everything that had happened in his life, every bad situation he’d survived, every Death Eater slur he’d heard tossed his way, it all was worth it to be lying here like this, with the one he loved so close he could barely breathe with it.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you think I would leave it like this? Really? Epilogue on the way! Stay tuned for a cheesy, romantic after X time ending!!!


	24. Epliogue

*

Neville scraped the dirt off his boots and removed his dragonhide gloves, casting one last look back at his happily watered plants in the greenhouse. He spared a moment to look out over his gardens, where most of the plants hibernated under a record fall of snow. The sun was hidden behind thick cloud cover, making the world a place of heavy greys and drab whites. Before entering the cottage, he leaned down to look at how the Camellia bush was faring, pleased to see the bright pink blooms peeking out under a layer of snow that pushed the branches down. Then he removed his boots, set them on the old Daily Prophet by the door, and moved into the warmth of the cottage.

Theodore had the radio tuned to one of his favorite stations, one with lots of Latin vocals, drums and stringed instruments. It was the sort of music favored by an older generation, yet his thin lover listened to it almost exclusively. He watched from the kitchen doorway, having long ago gotten over his ‘love to be a creep’ response whenever Theodore was doing something particularly wonderful. And he _was_! His boyfriend was gliding around the kitchen with Pureblood grace, cleaning counters and washing dishes while the smell of baking bread wafted through the air. And all the while, a deep arioso humming came from Theodore’s lips as he accompanied the old song playing on the radio. The low timber of Theodore’s voice had at first surprised Neville, but since the brunette had become comfortable enough to hum around him, the sound had become a regular part of life in the little cottage. It was never something he would take for granted, however. Each new and domestic part of their life together became prized memories.  
It wasn’t long before Theodore turned and saw him standing there. His lover smiled and stepped over, and Neville’s arms automatically raised to enfold the other man. They stayed there for a minute, Theodore, ducking his head a little so that Neville could rest his chin on it. Each drawing comfort and happiness from the simple act of being close. The baking bread made the scene smell like childhood nostalgia and Neville was sure that if he could he’d make moments like these last forever. But, as always, there were things that needed doing and expectations to be met.

“Bread smells fantastic,” he said into Theodore’s hair. “What’d you make?”

“Bunch of different loaves. Plain, pumpkin, zucchini, butternut, yellow squash.”

“They’re going to love it,” he said seriously.

“You think?” Theodore pulled back to look him in the eye, and Neville could see the unsuccessfully hidden worry in those beautiful blue orbs.

“Of course they will! Everything you make is delicious. Have you ever heard me complain?”

“ _No_ ,” Theodore said slowly. And then he grinned brightly, “well, if you say so!”

Sometimes Neville couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by his life. His Theodore. This man whose dusk blue eyes held fathomless love and trust. It was… it was a look that _he_ was responsible for. He didn’t think he’d ever stop trying to be worthy of those eyes. He kept his deep surge of emotions to himself, however, and gave Theodore a brief kiss before pulling back and looking between the both of them, completely askance.

“You’ve gotten flour all over me, Theo! Now I have no choice but to change!”

“ _No—_ ! You _musn’t_!” his lover wailed in immediate horror.

His lips tilted into an amused quirk at Theodore’s theatrics and he disentangled himself from his lover’s arms to head toward the stairs.

“Nev, don’t make me a laughing stock!” Theodore warned, but Neville imagined he saw a good amount of merriment dancing behind those stern features.

“I can’t wear this flour covered cardigan though, can I?”

Theodore promptly cast a Scouring charm at his knitwear.

“But I still _know_  that it was dirty in the first place,” Neville split hairs, moving up the staircase with Theodore hot on his heels.

When they entered the bedroom together Theodore suddenly stopped in the doorframe, mouth open and face the picture of sudden realization.

“You were just looking for an excuse, weren’t you? You were always going to wear it!”

“My love, you think so little of me.” Neville adopted a wounded look, then removed his (oh so soiled) top.

He got a grumpy _harumph_ noise in return.

“Don’t give me that! Don’t think I don’t know you secretly love when I wear these things.”

He pulled the new jumper over his head, ignoring the way Theodore groaned in despair when his thin lover looked at him. He sidled close, hands moving up to cup smooth shaven cheeks that fit perfectly in his palms.

Theodore sighed heavily into the air between them and said, “I suppose I’ll live… even if you do look like a twat.”

“Come off it!” Neville laughed. “Admit it, you would fuck me.” He stepped back and spread his arms wide, eyebrows lifting in silent query.

He watched in pleasure as Theodore’s eyes darkened dramatically. It never failed to be incredible, how quickly they could bring each other to arousal with just a few choice words.

“I would,” Theodore admitted quietly, and then moved over to the closet, pulling down a relaxed fit, grey robe with a bit of red trim.  It wasn’t even wrinkled!  Mrs. Foster ended up teaching more than one housekeeping charm to the enthusiastic, Theodore.  Neville had a thing about that robe; it was the only clothing Theodore wore that contained Gryffindor red. It made something primal give a satisfied rumble when he saw his lover in it.

“Will you hold this for me until—Oh shit! The bread!”

Neville found himself suddenly holding an armful of soft grey robes, watching Theodore’s retreating figure dash out their bedroom and down the stairs. He descended after his lover at a more sedate pace, thinking about the coming evening, the little box he had tucked away in his satchel, and the other little box he’d found hidden upstairs.

Then he had to quickly stifle his laughter when he tried to enter the kitchen only to see Theodore standing, wand in hand, in the middle of a whirlwind of loaves and bowls and kitchen cloths and cooling charms. Flour hung thick on the air, which had Neville standing back. After all, it wouldn’t do to have to change his jumper!

*

Theodore ran an appraising gaze over his lover. The jumper they’d tiffed about hung comfortably on Neville’s broad chest. It truly was a garish monstrosity, with its lime green and vermillion stripes clashing atrociously, and with cavorting reindeer dancing in a row right across Neville’s pectorals. And yet… Neville was absolutely right because there was a very large part of Theodore that couldn’t help but scream, _cute! He’s so bloody cute! In his stupid, inappropriate jumpers!_ Naturally, his pureblood upbringing hadn’t allowed him to let Neville wear it without putting up some semblance of a fight. In the end he was sulkily glad to have not gotten his way. Neville looked adorable. He’d really have to write Lovegood sometime and thank her in a roundabout way for the dubious additions to his boyfriend’s wardrobe. Hell, maybe she’d be here and he could thank her in person!

He looked up just as the door opened to let out a hot blast of warm air onto the freezing doorstep where they stood. The outside of the house had looked gloomy, but Neville had previously assured him that the Ancestral House of Black had had a complete makeover under Harry Potter’s care.

Ron Weasley stood in the doorway, his towering frame blocking out much of the light.

“Come join the party,” he bellowed jovially and if he’d already had a few butterbeers, or if it was just the holiday mood affecting him, Theodore couldn’t say. “It’s cold out there,” Ron added, taking one of the bowls of bread from him and leading the way to the kitchen.

It seemed most everyone had spread out across the ground floor, but a good many were in the kitchen, sneaking food or running up and down the stairs between the kitchen and dining room with extra cutlery or dishes of butter. Everywhere he looked there was a redhead. And… wasn’t this a little _much_! There was an insane amount of people here! In the kitchen alone he recognised the Weasley patriarch, Molly Weasley, along with a couple of her children scattered around. Sorting through glassware was the actual Triwizard competitor Fleur Weasley herself! There were several people he didn’t recognize and at one point he even saw a hideous looking house elf with only one eye scuttling about with trays of food. Theodore couldn’t stop his head from twisting every which way as he handed off the rest of the loaves off to the cheery, frazzle-haired woman.

“Oh, these look lovely, dears! You needn’t have gone to so much trouble!”

“It was my pleasure,” his response was automatic.

Thankfully, Neville began to steer them out of the turbulent room, and he nearly sagged into his lover’s arm.

“Oh!” was all he managed when they stepped back into the hallway. And then another Weasley was upon them, dragging a rather dorky looking man behind her.

“Theo!” Ginny cried, throwing herself at him and giving him a bone crushing hug. For such a little thing, she packed quite a lot of strength! “You haven’t met my husband yet, have you? Theodore Nott, meet Wesley Turpin!”

“It’s a pleasure,” he said seriously, disengaging from Ginny so he could lean forward and give the other man’s hand a shake. Wesley Turpin had brown eyes and flyaway brown hair which immediately made Theodore feel a sense of camaraderie. He wore his cinnamon colored button down tucked into his trowsers. Ginny practically glowed next to him, and Theodore thought they made a good pair. He said as much, and Ginny laughed loudly while her more demure husband blushed heavily.

“I like him better every time,” Ginny said to Neville, and threw in a wink for good measure. “Now come on, you too! There’s loads of people who don’t even know you’ve arrived yet!”

They entered the study, which seemed even more packed than the kitchen. There was more than one game of chess being played, and even a set of Exploding Snap was set up in the corner. Bookshelves lined the walls and he felt himself drawn to find an interesting one and hide away in one of the plush armchairs that littered the room.

Before he could do so he was pulled into half a dozen conversations. Some were boring: “I hear old Wilkie Twycross is finally retiring. Did you have your Apparition test with him? ‘Don’t forget the Three D’s of Apparition!’” Some were embarrassing: “I notice you two haven’t stopped by the shop yet. I absolutely assure you that you will find no finer quality anywhere else! And I have something that I think will be just up your alley, a top of the line vibrating pl—” Some were entertaining: “Did I ever tell you about Neville’s first day of teaching. Apparently there was a mixup with the class schedules and he started his day off with both the first year Hufflepuffs and the seventh year Slytherins bickering over which greenhouse to enter! And then he spent an entire hour in Greenhouse Two, alternately keeping the first years from some of the more noxious plants, and listening to the bored seventh years make spiteful comments!”

He spent a while with Harry and Draco who were at one of the chessboards. Draco was leading a mostly successful attack against Harry’s army, and the bespectacled man alternated between getting caught up in the conversation around him, and scowling at the board when he made a bad play.

“I need Ron to get up here so he can trounce you!” Harry muttered mutinously and they all laughed a little.

“Malfoy’s don’t get trounced!” Draco said imperiously.

“Oh yeah?”

“Most definitively.”

The pair disappeared shortly after and didn’t return for a while.

He was making his way over to Neville when something small hurtled into the room at an incredible speed. His, and the eyes of many other adults, followed the object as the child shaped blur with a shock of blue hair twisted around the corner, sprinted across the floor, tripped over the rug and fell flat on its face. There was a collective intake of shocked breath from the adults, and his hand was already reaching for his wand to cast healing charms on the tiny boy whose incredibly loud _thump_ as he hit the ground must have meant all manner of terrible things! Then the child lifted his head and started laughing, low, chortling giggles that emanated straight from his rounded little tummy and Theodore let out his breath as relief hit him like a fist to his stomach. Yet _another_ Weasley male with his long hair tied back in a ponytail, and a tiny, silver haired infant in his arms came jogging carefully around the doorframe and into the room, his eyes lighting up when he saw his wayward charge.  Seeing that the child now had its caretaker in tow, Theodore resumed his movement towards Neville.

Luna Lovegood joined him somewhere along the way, though where she’d appeared from he couldn’t have said. One moment he was picking his way between the numerous bodies packed into the room, and the next there was a small woman with an absolutely enormous frizz of blonde hair on her head holding onto his arm and helping him steer around some of the more boisterous conversations.

“You both look beautiful this evening,” Luna calmly remarked, smoothing a delicate hand down his robe sleeve.

“Neville looks good in anything,” he half-agreed. And _there_ , that was the closest thing to a compliment that ugly fucking jumper would _ever_ get.

Luna laughed, and it set her radish earrings swinging. Finally, the hordes of people between him and his boyfriend had been traversed, and Theodore was barely within arms reach when he was pulled snug into Neville’s side. It was satisfying, is what it was—being manhandled like that, just so Neville could hold him a moment sooner. Luna smiled at them… or more specifically, she smiled over Theodore’s left shoulder, but it was the thought that counted.

“Hey, Luna,” Neville greeted. “How was Russia?”

“The mating rituals of the Caribou left much to be desired, sadly enough. Though, they’re terribly secretive creatures, so I really shouldn’t have expected much...” she trailed off at the end, as if thinking of reindeer sex was a far more important pastime than social niceties.

Luckily for the semi-awkward silence that was brewing, Molly Weasley appeared at the door to announce that supper was ready, and would they all please make their way to the dining room?

“I wanna big chicken leg, an’a _big_ steak, and a bunch’a pudding!”

The blue-haired toddler stood in the middle of them all, hands on hips and doing his best to pull off an intimidating look. It was rather precious. Bill Weasley gave the toddler a stern look, to which he defiantly responded, “please!”

Everyone laughed and there was a mass exodus to the feast.

It was a full house. Even with the vast size of the dining room table, he wasn’t quite sure everyone was going to fit, until by some miracle they did.  Arthur Weasley stood up from his seat at the head of the table.

“Welcome everyone!” he said. “It is such a joy to have so many people come together this New Year’s Eve. I’d like to thank the family, friends, and _friends_ of friends,” there was a chuckle around the table, “that showed up tonight to usher in the new year. Each and every year I see new faces at these gatherings and it gives me such great pleasure to see the number of our loved ones growing. If you are new here, an additional welcome to you, and we hope to see you again the next time this gathering rolls around. If this is old hat to you, then thanks for not getting tired of us! I’d like to say more, but the food smells wonderful and I can hear bellies growling—mine included—so let’s get on with the feast!”

Some people clapped as Mr. Weasley sat, some hooted or made other raucous noises. Then they all tucked in, and he had to admit, the food was incredible. It was a good thing the old table was so thick, or he’d be worried about it collapsing under the weight of so many dishes. They ate, they drank, they made merry—after all it was New Years!

The meal was in no way over before the children disappeared to an upstairs bedroom, and things began winding down. People were mostly sitting around, chatting, and beginning to imbibe in the more alcoholic beverages. Mrs. Weasley charmed the finished plates to float down to the kitchen.

Theodore was warm and full and comfortable. Neville’s arm was a pleasant weight around his waist and he happily slumped into the other man’s bulk. His bread had been well received, something that filled him with a stupid amount of pride, though maybe that had more to do with the half empty tumbler full of Firewhiskey Foster had pushed into his hand when the elder man had found a seat next to him. All in all, he was feeling much more at ease around such a large number of people than he had earlier.

Then, for some reason, Neville’s arm was withdrawing, and his boyfriend was making a move to stand.  He looked up, a question on his lips, but Neville merely smiled at him—one of those sweet, lips quirking ones—and so he remained seated without saying anything.

He did keep watching Neville, however, feeling slightly in awe when his lover’s stance shifted into something much more commanding. He was a focal piece. A solid rock of a man in the middle of the evening’s festivities. And then he spoke.

“If I could get everyone’s attention before we all begin to disperse?” and Neville’s honey smooth voice rolled out over the gathered people. Like some sort of spell, all fell quiet to listen to him talk. Theodore didn’t blame them, he couldn’t look away. Something about the moment seemed… _poignant_.

“I’ve got a bit of announcement and I wanted you all to be here for what I had to say, because this is about Theodore, and it’s about me, and it probably won’t come as a surprise to most of you but… he’s the most important thing in my life.”

At the moment, Theodore didn’t think he could look away from Neville if the house caught on fire. Neville looked back, holding his gaze. It didn’t matter that Neville was speaking to everyone, because he could tell that every word was meant for him.

“My life has changed so much since I met him. For the better,” Neville added with a hasty laugh, “so much for the better. And I want him to stay a part of that life—”

_Was this what he thought it wase?_

“—which is why I’ve decided on something that will bind the two of us—”

_Holy. Fucking. Shit. It really, really sounded like this was—_

“—Because I want my home to be _our_ home. And I very much do not want him to _ever_ leave.”

There was a chuckle around the room, and even some sniffling sounds of a decidedly overwrought female nature.

“So,” Neville coughed a little awkwardly, and then said, “ _Accio_ Neville’s bag.”

It came zooming through the door a minute later, and Neville rooted through it for a moment and seriously, Theodore couldn’t _breathe_ , because he was pretty sure this was—

“Aha! Here it is!” Neville exclaimed triumphantly, holding aloft a little. Black. Box.

—a proposal…

Several girlish squeals erupted around the room and Theodore actually wasn’t breathing and was starting to feel a little dizzy because of it.

“Oh, wait! No, wait!” Neville protested, looking around. “It’s not… oh bloody hell, just look and see.” And he opened the box. Which contained… a little plant. A small green curl of stem and leaf with a single bud at the top, which stood nestled in a small pat of dirt.

“ _What_ —?” Theodore managed to croak out of his parched throat. And he could still hear wedding bells and was still thinking of wine vintages and a little black box of his own that he’d kept hidden and secret for the last six months.

“Like I said,” Neville said strongly, though there was a pink tinge to his cheeks. “I plan to make a home with this man sitting right next to me, and it’s because of this that I created, the Depart Me Nott—two ‘T’s” Neville raised his wand, incanting “ _Solaris_ _Minimus”_ and a miniature sun burst into being above the plant.

An expectant hush fell over the table as eyes strained to see what was happening, and then the plant uncurled before them, it’s leaves lifted toward the light, and the bud slowly began to open. First it showed the slightest peek of a charcoal grey, and then when it opened further everyone began to see the deep blue that was concealed in the flower’s center.

Theodore’s eyes widened dramatically, because there was no mistaking it… Neville had created a flower that matched the _exact_ color of his eyes. It was beautiful, breathtaking. He turned his stunned gaze to Neville, and Neville gazed back at him and the next words were said like there was no one there but them.

“I wanted to plant it next to the door, at the bottom of the trellis… that way, when it grows, the vine can spread out over the whole front of the cottage.”

He could only stare.

“...Theo? Do you… do you like it…?”

He couldn’t contain himself under that beseeching, concerned look.

“Merlin- _bloody_ -fuck, Neville!” It all came out in a huge whoosh as he finally released his breath, and thank _goodness_ the children were all in bed, because his decorum had flown out the window with his sense! “It’s brilliant! _You_ are so damn brilliant! I can’t even believe—” and he all but launched himself into Neville’s arms and met him mouth to mouth in front of the loud applause of their audience. It was only when the wolf whistles got boisterous enough to break through the haze of his mind, that he finally drew away from Neville’s tantalizing lips. They stayed close, arms wrapped loosely around each other.

“I thought—” he said quietly, not sure exactly what he wanted to say. “I thought—”

“I know exactly what you thought,” Neville whispered in his ear, and there was a dangerous, silken quality to his lover’s voice that made him shiver. “And the next time this happens, there _will_ be a ring in the box. Now, I’ve been waiting for you to grow a spine, but I have to admit I’m getting impatient.”

“How—?”

“Your _sock drawer_ , Theo?” And yes, there was some definite laughter in that voice. “I kept waiting for you to ask me, and, “ he shrugged, looking not at all ashamed, “I figured a little push wouldn’t hurt.”

Theodore could only stare, _enraptured_ , said a voice in his head. Because… because this was everything. This was Neville, giving him a greater gift than he could have ever even imagined. And beyond that, it was basically a _yes_! A yes to a question he hadn’t even asked yet!

“ _Nev_ …” he choked out, too overwhelmed for words, feeling that cotton throat, wet eyed feeling overwhelm him as he pressed his face into Neville’s collarbone.

To say the rest of the night was a party would be an understatement. The booze broke out with a vengeance, until there wasn’t a single sober adult among them. Theodore stuck close to Neville, feeling loathe to part after the previous, emotion wrought, scene. However, people seemed fairly adept at finding him. As it was, he found himself slumped drunkenly, almost in Neville’s lap, carrying on with Ginny’s husband.

“How’d you two meet?” he asked, pleasantly surprised he wasn’t slurring words.

“I’m raising money to start a pie and coffee shop,” Wesley Turpin answered him. “Right now I’m the caretaker of the quidditch pitch. Ginny met me when I was cleaning out the toilets!”

They laughed, loudly, the alcohol makin everything funnier.

“What about you and Longbottom?” Turpin asked. “I swear I thought he was _proposing_ earlier!”

“You and everyone else!” This time, laughter came from everyone in hearing distance.

Theodore settled down again, refocusing on the question asked.

“I dunno,” he mused. “I guess you could say it all started with a cup of tea.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is. My very first fanfiction all done! It's been an incredible, uplifting ride. Thank you so much, for everyone who read and followed and commented this story. I can't even tell you how much it's meant to me :) You're all fabulous!
> 
> A shout out to my_thestral, who requested an animated reindeer sweater all the way back in chapter 7. You were not forgotten, as you can see. I just had to wait for the best moment to break it out :)
> 
> It's sad to see this one go, but I'll probably stick around. Fanfiction is pretty addictive :P


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